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POEMS 



)K...M-.LOUISA CHITWOOD, 



SELECTED AND PREFACED 



GEORGE 1). PRENTICE. 



o. 



CINCINNATI: ^ 

PRINTED BY 

MOOPtE, WILSTACH, KEYS & CO., 

25 West Fourth Street, 

18 5 7. 



.C3T 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by 

MARY A. TUCKER, 

In the Clerk's ottioe of the District Court of the United States for the 
District of Indiana. 



TO 

GEORGE D. PRENTICE, ESQ., 

f« compliance foitb tlje Intention of ihz JTantcnteb glutljor, 

THIS VOLUME 
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 

BY HER SURVIVING FRIENDS. 



CONTENTS. 



Tago. 

Preface, - - - - " - - 11 

Isabel Lee, ------- 17 

Dreaming, - • . - - - 10 

A Fragment, - - - - - - 21 

Change, - - - = - - - 22 

The Mother's Lament, - - - - - 24 

Forget Me, - - - - - - ,26 

A Dream, ------- 27 

Little Mary. - - - ~ - - 30 

Lines, ------- 31 

One of Earth's Angels, - - - - 32 

On a Departed One, - - - - - 33 

To a Favorite Stream, ----- 35 

Observations at a Party, - - ~ - - 37 

The Stream of Life, ----- 39 

Near Me, still Near Me, - - - - - 43 

To an Absent One, ----- 45 

Lillia and Mary, - - - - - - 47 

They Met but Once, ----- 49 

The Indian's Farewell, - - » - - 50 

(5) 



Page. 

The Child Teacher, 52 

I have Ceased to Love Thee, - - - - 54 

To the Memory of a Friend, - - - - 66 

The Guardian Angel, - - - - - 68 

Evening Thoughts, ----- 60 

I Dreamed not Thou didst Love Me, - - - 62 

I will Try to Love him, Mother, - - _ 65 

I Change but in Dying, - , - ► 69 

George D. Prentice, - - - - - - 71 

To Leda, - 72 

All Day, 74 

The Maple Tree, - - . . = 75 

Since You and I were Young, - - - - 79 

The Seamstress, ------ 80 

Mementoes, -------82 

Why did I Weep when Johnny Died? - - - 83 

Serenade, - - - - . - - - 85 

Lead us not into Temptation, - - - - 87 

Daleria's Temptation, - - - - - 88 

The Coquette's Confession, - - - - 92 

The Beggar Girl, - - - - - - 97 

A Ballad, ---_.. 99 

The Better Land, - - - - - - 102 

To , 104 

She never Loved him, _ - - . . 104 

An Autumnal Song, ----- 107 

Bow to None but God, - - . - _ 109 

January 1st, 1855, - _ _ _ . ixi 
Dreaming in the Twilight, ----- 116 

To Too, - ------ 118 



Page. 

A Dream of the Summer Time, - - - - 120 

x\ell, 123 

The Inebriate, - 125 

Little Lena Gray, . - _ , - 128 

Frost Pictures on the Pane, - - - - 130 

Birds, 132 

The Dowery, - - - - - - 135 

Bird on the Gnarled Old Cherry, - - - 136 

Harold to Ernestine, ----- 139 

The Spirit Visitor, - - - - 141 

The Old Still-House, 143 

Oh, Bury me Not in the deep, deep Sea, - - 146 

The Lost Boy, 149 

Lines, ------- 152 

To a Caged Bird, 152 

The Exile, - - - - - - 165 

The Second Bride, 157 

The Graves of the Flowers, - - - - 160 

Life's Harp, 162 

Eva, ------ 163 

The little Girl under the Snow, - - - - 166 

The Trifler, - 168 

Dead to Me, 170 

Autumn Flowers, ----- 172 

The Visit Home, 174 

The Poet's Bridal, ----- 176 

The Hour of Release, - - - - - 179 

You would not Know Me Now, - - - 179 

That Little Hand, 182 

To Nellie, - 184 



rage. 

The Robin's Song, - - - - - - 186 

Confession and Justification, - - - - 187 

To One Departed, - - - - - - 190 

Night Musings, ------ 192 

To a Sleeping Child, - - - - - 193 

Elma Howard, - - - - - -195 

The Drunkard's Remorse, ----- 204 

With the Dead. 206 

Lyle, - - 208 

To Mary, . . ~ . . 209 

The Spirit's Ti-yst, - - ~ - - - 212 

Revisitation, ------ 213 

A Prophecy, ..-.--. 215 

The First Rose of Summer, - - - - 217 

Emma, - - - - - - - 219 

An Autumnal Rhyme, ----- 221 

The Deserter, - - - - - - 223 

The Brothers, ------ 225 

A Dream of the Past, - - - - - 227 

A Whispered Warning, - - - - - 228 

Good Bye, 231 

An Hour of Peace, ----- 232 

To Mrs. I M M , - - - - 233 

Come When the Birds Sing, - - - - 235 

The Summer Flowers, - - - - - 237 

The Temperance Army, ----- 238 

Haunted, - - - - . - - 240 

A Memory, ------ 241 

I know not Where Thou Art, - - - - 242 

October,- - 244 



False, - - - - - 

The Meadow Rill, ■ 

Lines to , - - - - 

Love is Not for Me, ^ . - - - 

Lay for an Absent One, - - - - . 

The Soldier's Adieu, . . . - - 

Amy, ...-.-. 

Let not thy Hopes on Earth be Stayed, 
Isabel, .-...- 

Stanzas, ------- 

Lost, -.----■ 

Bird of the Wild Wood, 

To , ------ 

The Bird's Nest Empty, - - _ - 

Watching by the Lattice, - - - - 

Amelia, ------- 

The Snow, 

The Two Poems, . . . - . 

Leoline, ------ 

Zuline to Rodolph, . - - - - 

Bessie Lee, ------ 

The Two Voices, - - - - - 

ToX. X. X., 

The Dying Betrothed, - - - - - 

When? ------- 

On the Death of M. Louisa Chitwood, by Coates Kinney, 



Page. 
246 

248 

249 

252 

253 

255 

256 

258 

259 

261 

263 

264 

266 

267 

267 

269 

270 

271 

274 

276 

279 

281 

282 

283 

285 

287 



PREFACE. 



I HAVE been requested by the nearest friends 
of the late Miss Chitwood to write a Prefoce for 
a volume of her poetry. It is to me an unaccus- 
tomed work, and I do not know that I can per- 
form it more appropriately than by copying from 
my paper of last January the notice I then made 
of her death, and of her genius. That notice 
was as follows : 

" We have seldom been so deeply pained, as by 
the intelligence of the death of Miss Mary Louisa 
Chitwood, of Mt. Carmel, Indiana.- We grieve at 
her loss, for she was our very dear, personal friend, 
and one of the brightest among the young women 
of genius in this country. She was, for a long 
time, a writer of poetry for the Louisville Journal; 
and every reader has admired the rich and tender 
beauty of her productions. 

" Miss Chitwood was young ; but, in her brief 
career of life, she knew something of sorrow, and 
her heart was both softened and strengthened by 

J ^^^^ 



12 

the stern discipline. She was kind, and gentle, 
and true, and good — warm-hearted and high- 
souled — diffident and shrinking, but conscious of 
bright and beautiful thoughts, and of strong pow- 
ers, given her by God for useful purposes. Her 
whole nature was deeply and intensely poetical ; 
and thus to her the whole world was full of poetry. 
The deepest griefs of her young bosom were 
turned to music— soft, sweet, and mournful music, 
on her lips. There was a low, and sad, and mys- 
terious melody in her heart, as if that young 
heart had wandered down from Heaven, and were 
moaning for its home, as the sea shell moans for 
its parent sea. There was no deadly nightshade, 
or other noxious thing among the mj-riad blos- 
soms of her soul, that flung upon every breeze 
that stirred them an incense like that of Araby 
the Blest. She never uttered a thought that was 
not fitted to purify, and beautify, and make better 
every heart into which it sank — never a thought 
that might not be cherished and spoken by an 
angel in the midst of the shining hosts of Heaven. 
Every thought rested as purely and beautifully 
in her heart as a white dove in its nest, or a star- 
beam in the calm lake, or a dew-drop in the cup 
of the rose, or the soul of love and perfume in the 
bosom of the violet. The bitterest trials could 
not turn to bitterness her sweet and lovely nature. 
JS'o adversity could make her cold, or morbid, 
or misanthropic; on the contrary, the whole 



15 

tendency of her sorrowful experiences of life was 
to soften, and etherialize, and halloAV her spirit, 
and to render it the home of universal benevo- 
lence, and charity, and love. 

'' Miss Chitwood had extraordinary genius; and, 
up to the time of her death, she cultivated it with 
diligence and success. She was rising rapidly to 
fame, when suddenly her fiery heart sank down, 
to be quenched in the cold damps of the grave. It 
was as if a tree, in the midst of all its wealth of 
April bloom, were uprent by the whirlwind ; as if 
a 3'oung eagle, springing upward to the sky, were 
stricken down by the fowler's shaft ; as if a young 
star, mounting brightly toward the zenith to take 
its place in heaven, were suddenly and mysteri- 
ously blotted in mid-career from existence. When 
the sad knowledge that she was dead came home 
to us, we felt, for a moment, as if beauty and glory 
had perished from the Universe — as if something 
beautiful in nature had stopped ; as if an exquisite 
harmonj^ in creation had ceased : we remembered 
not that her pure spirit still lives, exalted and 
strengthened, and rendered even more heavenly 
than in its lovely pilgrimage of earth. We loved 
her as dearly as we could love one whom we had 
never seen ; and her pure, and gentle, and child- 
like, and enthusiastic, and holy love was to us, 
surrounded as we ever were by the fierce strifes of 
politics, like a tone of music among rude voices — 
a ' sweet benediction in the eternal curse.' 



14 

" We hope that Miss Chitwood's writings, in 
poetry and prose, will be collected by some sur- 
viving friend or relative, for publication, and it 
would give us pleasure to render our assistance in 
such a work. It would be to us a labor of duty 
and love. There is, in what Miss C. has written, 
not only a brilliant promise of what she would 
have done, but very much of graceful and beau- 
tiful fulfillment. She has uttered thoughts, which, 
we believe, will never die in the great heart of 
humanity. Perhaps her name may not survive 
her generation ; it is possible, that her poetry, 
even before the lapse of many years, may be 
engulfed beneath the surging waves of time ; but 
we religiously believe that there are influences 
from her life, and words, not destined to pass 
away. Those influences are as a soft and gentle 
zephyr, passing on to join the storms of beneficent 
might that sweej) and purify the earth. 

" We promised Miss Chitwood a tribute to her 
living worth and genius : but we have come too 
late ; and now, standing, as it were, beside her 
coffin, we lay our humble ofl'ering on the cold 
bosom upon which her white hands are so meekly 
folded. We seem to hear a voice from all nature 
around us, asking what business we have here, 
while the bright spirits that have blessed our life 
are falling, one by one, around us. Oh, it seems 
a mysterious dispensation of Providence, that the 
little amount of breath necessary to the life of a 



15 

glorious young girl is withdrawn, while enough 
of wind to make a blustering day is vouchsafed to 
the lungs and the nostrils of the tens of thousands 
of the worthless and the vile : 

" There is a world of bliss hereafter — else 
Why are the bad above, the good beneath 

The green grass of the grave ? The mower fells 
Briars and flowers alike — but we may breathe 
(When he his desolating blade shall sheathe, 

And rest him from his work) in a pure sky. 

Above the smoke of burning worlds — and death, 
Upon scorch'd pinions, with the dead shall lie, 

When Time, with all his years and centuries, has gone by." 



17 



ISABEL LEE. 

" Oh, which of my lovers is thinking of me? 
For my cheek 's like a cherry," said Isabel Lee, 
As pressed she her little white hand on her brow ; 
" Through whose precious heart is my name 

sounding now ? 
Is it Harold, the artist, the while he doth paint, 
With a smile on his lips, the fair face of the saint, 
Which he said, in the hours of our parting, should 

wear 
A brow like mine own, and the same golden hair?" 
Yes, Isabel Lee, the sweet pride of the glen, 
The artist was nursing thy memory then ; 
But he looked on the face he wa,s painting, with 

dread. 
For, somehow, it wore the calm look of the dead. 
Sweet Isabel Lee, to the lattice she went, 
And her rosy-hued cheek on her folded hands 

bent. 
She mocked the gay thrush on the old cherry-tree 
With " Which of my lovers is thinking' of me? 
2 



18 

Is it Eobert, the hunter, afar on the moor ? 
This morn, ere the sunrise, he stood at my door ; 
He sued for a rose, that was just to unfold. 
And said he ' would deem it more precious than 

gold ; ' 
I have heard, through the wood, his old rifle ring 

out, 
And the bay of his hounds in victorious shout. 
But once since he left, and the noon is now past. 
And the shadows creep up to the garden -gate fast; 
I wonder, I wonder if, out on the lea. 
Dear Robert, the hunter, is thinking of me?" 
Yes, Isabel Lee, the sweet pride of the glen, 
The hunter was nursing thy memory then ; 
For as to his lips thy sweet rose-bud was pressed, 
The slight stem was broken — it fell on his breast. 
Sweet Isabel Lee, she heard the birds sing, 
And the cool water fall with a plunge in the spring; 
She went with a smile to the old cherry-tree, 
And said — " It is Alfred a-thinking of me ; 
For when I stood here in the moonlight with him 
His dark poet-eyes grew all shadowed and dim. 
And his voice was the sweetest I ever have heard ; 
Each pulse in my bosom its echos have stirred. 
He said that he loved me, and asked me to be 
His bride, when the autumn mists shone o'er the 

lea." 
Yes, Isabel Lee, the sweet pride of the glen, 
The poet was niirsing thy memory then ; 
He was saying, "The dream is too sweet, it will be 
Like the rose and the rainbow, my Isabel Lee." 



19 

Thy cheek hath grown pale, pretty Isabel Lee, 
But a lover unthought of was thinking of thee; 
His step was unheard on the emerald moor, 
His form was unseen, as it stood b}" the door, 
His kiss was not felt, as it lay on thy cheek. 
His troth-plight unspoken, as earth-lovers speak ; 
The flowers for thy bridal are bright on the tree, 
The fair snowy robe will be ready for thee ; 
But Harold, nor Eobert, beside thee shall stand ; 
JSTor Alfred, loved Alfred, receive thy fair hand. 
O Isabel Lee ! the sweet pride of the glen. 
Th}' bridegroom was nursing thy memory llien. 



" DREAMING. 



Dreaming, this delicious night, 
While the May -moon's eyes of light 
Softly, pensively, look through 
Evening's cloister gates of blue ; 
While the south winds, rustling, creep 
To the nooks where blossoms sleep. 
Pressing on each folded lid, 
Kisses, through the day forbid ; 
And beneath the starry beams 
I have given mj^ heart to dreams. 

Not of snowy orchard-blooms, 
Wild bees sleeping 'mid perfumes 



20 



Not of moss-embroidered brooks^ 
Not of violet-dotted nooks; 
Nor of homesteads, old and brown, 
Where the moonbeams shimmer down ; 
Not of hills and grassy dales. 
Nor of fairy-haunted vales ; 
Not of earthly birth the light, 
Crowning all my dreams to-night. 

For my soul hath taken wings, 
Dreaming of celestial things, 
And the city seen of old, 
With its streets of shining gold. 
With its bright-haired seraphim ; 
Where the day can ne'er grow dim, 
Where the light shines like a mist 
O'er the walls of amethyst, — 
A faint shadow of the light 
Gilds my happy dreams to-night. 

I forgot my weary lot, 
All my struggles are forgot ; 
Serpents coiled amid the flowers, 
Thorns that pierced in other hours, 
Hopes that joerished all unblest, 
Friends who died when loved the best, 
Partings that the heart have crushed, 
Praj^ers rebellion's voice have hushed, — 
No dark ghost of sin and blight, 
Glideth through my dreams to-night. 



21 



Ah ! 'tis sweet the cross to bear, 
Sweet to lift the heart in prayer, 
Sweet the faith without a fear, 
Love that bringeth heaven so near. 
Till o'er life's thorn -dotted way 
Beams the dawn of j^erfect da}^ ; 
Till the path seems short and sweet 
Leading to the Saviour's feet. 
Oh, baptized in strength and light, 
Seems my inner soul to-night ! 

Dear one, through life's changeful way. 
Through its darkness, and its day, 
May we shun the ways of sin. 
May we strive the crown to win ; 
Though our life-paths lead apart. 
Let this thought be in each heart. 
Soon will life be over, then 
Gladly we shall meet again, 
In the land whose starry light 
Gildeth all my dreams to-night. 



A FEAGMENT. 



On barren rocks, by light winged birds, 
Eare seeds have oft been sown ; 

And hope hath sprung from gentle words. 
Where only griefs had grown. 



22 



CHANGE. 

Though years have passed since last we met — 

Long years of change and blight, 
1 read the old love burning yet 

In thy sad eyes to-night. 
But though thy voice is still as sweet 

As when thy early vow 
First made my heart-strings faster beat, 

It can not thrill me now. 

I took thy hand, as in a dream, 

I left the joyous throng. 
And, 'neath the starlight's tender beam, 

I sat beside thee long ; 
But, indistinctly to mine ear 

Come each remembered vov/ — 
The words I used to weep to heai; 

Have ceased to move me now. 

The tress I gave thee long ago, 

Hath rested near thy heart 
Through summer's bloom and winter's snow, 

The while we were apart ; 
But years that since have settled down 

Upon my girlish brow 
Have changed my locks of gold to brown, — 

It will not match them now. 



23 

My locket! — oh, with what surprise 

I started, none can know — 
The shadows of my girlhood eyes 

Eeproached, reproved me so. 
A smile of love those lips caressed, 

'No shade was on the brow ; — 
Ah, friend, the girl you loved the best 

Hath strangely altered now. 

And thou art changed; the world's rough war, 

Its sorrow, and its care. 
Have left, alas, full many a scar 

Upon thy forehead fair. 
But, ah, thy heart — thy heart Jiath kej^L 

Its first and only vow, 
While change within my own hath crept; — 

I can not love thee now. 

O friend, the careless-hearted one 

That stands unmoved by thee. 
With smiles for all, and love for none, 

Like butterfly or bee. 
Is not the fragrant-hearted thing 

Who gave thee her first vow, 
In that delicious day of spring 

That is but memory now. 

Oh dream thy early love is dead, 

That moss and roses now 
Are o'er the golden-curtained head, — 

But ashes long ago. 



24 



Forget that she has said, to-night, 
With cold, unloving brow, 

And eyes without a tearful light — 
" I can not love thee now." 



THE MOTHEE'S LAMENT. 

'Tis o'er ; the last faint, faltering breath is o'er ; 

As the freed dove flies joyous to her nest, 
So shall thy struggling spirit pant no jnore, — 
^"0 more shall pain and sufi\)ring touch thy 
breast. 
For thou art now to rest. 

The soul's deep light has faded from thine eye, 
Departed from thy cheek the tint of rose, 

Those ruby lips have breathed their last, last sigh. 
And will no more in smiles of love unclose, — 
Sweet be thy deep repose. 

Let me still gaze on thee, and in my heart 
Fix thy dear image, ne'er to be erased ; 

So when of dust those features are a part, 
I may recall the form I here have traced . — 
The form so oft embraced. 

Let me recall it when I gazed, at night, 
On each fair cloud so gently fl(jating by ; 



25 

Let me recall it in the starry light 

That sweetly glows along the deep blue sky, — 
Then can I call thee nigh. 

In the deep midnight hour when all is still. 

Save the low thrillings of the wandering breeze, 

That floats in gentle murmurs from the hill, 
And like a harp-string thrills among the trees 
In strange, sad melodies. 

And in the morning, when the eastern blue 
Brightens and glows with vivid, golden light ; 

When the first sunbeam drinks the trembling dew 
Cast in the flower- cups, like some jewel bright, 
By the fair hand of night. 

Then, thou beloved, at morning, noon, or night, 
In spring's first glow or in the summer hours, 

In autumn's saddening time of frost and blight, 
Or in the stormy winter's gloomy hours. 
Of wind and snowy showers, — 

I'll think of thee ; thy memory in my heart 
Shall ever find a constant dwelling-place ; 

And though with thee I must forever part, 
Still will I love thee, and wall often trace 
The features of thy face. 

And though in after years from out my mind 
Those features, as in death, may fade away, 



26 

Yet in my heart tlioii shalt be e'er enshrined 
Deep, deep and true, when into senseless clay 
Thy loved form shall decay. 

Farewell, dear love, now I must give thee up ; 

Closed, closed for aye the coffin-lid must be ; 
Yes, I, alas, must drain the bitter cup, 

I shall no more those lovely features see, — 
The grave must close o'er thee. 

It must, it must be so ; for, dear onCj now 
I gaze on thee in death's long slumber deep, 

Look for the last time on thy peaceful brow ; 
Farewell ! farewell ! Death will his vigil keep. 
Sweet be thy blessed sleep. 

'Tis o'er at last ; I heard the rattling clod 
Fall with a muffled sound above thy breast ; 

But, Oh, I feel, that though beneath the sod 
Thy form is placed, yet still thou art at rest 
Amid the angels blessed. 



FOEGET ME. 



E'en as a bird forgets the song it weaves. 

When spring's first breezes, soft, begin to blow; 

As that sweet cadence dies amid the leaves 
Slowly to silence — Oh, forget me so. 



As the dew passes, when the morn is bright, 
From the low desert-flower's transparent urn ; 

As a gold cloud floats slowly from the sight, 
So let my love dej^art, and ne'er return. 

Yes, yes, forget me ; cease to weave for me 

The sparkling thread in the deep woof of 
thought ; 
Let all the past an idle fancy be, — 

A dream, whose speedy wak'ning brought thee 
nought ; 
Or, if at times thy heart-strings wildly thrill 

Delicious breathings, — waking thee to tears, — 
Oh, think of me as one whose heart is still. 

Beneath the clay of long-departed years. 



A DEllA^I. 



I'd a dream last night 'neath the moonbeams white ; 

I gazed on a rushing river ; 
On one bank was a ^^ine, on the other a vine, 
And it seemed in this strange, strange dream of 
mine, 

That they reached tow'rd each other forever. 

The pine was high, looking up to the sky, 
With the sunlight o'er it streaming : 

And bright birds flew its branches through ; 

And bees and zephyrs, and light and dew, 

Were o'er and about, in my dreaming. 



28 

But the vine was low; and the river's flow, 

And the shadowy vale a-near it, 
Were filled with a moan, and its life was lone, 
Till the pine sent down a strange, sad tone, 
An-d the vine crept up to hear it. 



And it said, " O tree, I have envied thee, 

Thy life is so fair in seeming ; 
From this gloomy vale, where my heart doth 

fail. 
And the blooms of my life are few and pale, 

I have thought thee blest, in my dreaming." 

Then whispered the pine, " This life of mine 

Is dreary, is isolated ; 
For something I miss ; I've the sunlight's kiss, 
And the song of the birds ; but it is not this, — 

I am lone, I am all unmated. 

" To the outward sight my life is bright 

As the dawn on a rolling river ; 
I look above, but I yearn for love 
To fly to my heart, like a gentle dove. 
And fold its wings forever." 

Then the vine grew glad, a sweet hope had 
From its lowly life up-started: 

" O lonely pine, I will round thee twine ; 

Eacb blow at thy heart shall strike first through 
mine." — 
Bui the tree and the vine were parted. 



29 

And the lofty tree — so it seemed to me — 

Bent down for the gentle twining ; 
But the river's roar swelled over the shore, 
Deeper and darker than ever before, 

Till the vale with waves w^as shining. 

And the lowly vine — in this dream of mine — 

Crept out to the angry river ; 
Alas, the waves w^ere Hope's dark caves, 
Scooped by the winds into yawning graves, 
To part them, aye and forever. 

Said the vine, below^, '• I have blooms of snoAV, 

For thee shall they sweetly blossom ; 
Their odors soft I will send thee oft. 
By the summer breeze as it floats aloft, 
To rest in thy lonely bosom." 

And the pine bent low, " Yes, be it so, 

For dark fate bids us sever ; 
I will sincj for thee, when each other tree 
Hath lost its music ; oh, trust in me, 

I will love thee, love forever." 

So the tree and the vine — in this dream of mine,- 
On each bank of the rushing river, 

Looked love from afar, as star unto star ; 

Nor time nor fate their faith could mar — 
Once true they were true forever. 



30 



LITTLE 3iAEY. 

When the Spring, with soft caresses, 
Parted Winter's snowy tresses ; 
When across the grassy meadows 
Yiolets smiled amid the shadows ; 
When the bee with light wing parted 
The flower petals, honey-hearted ; 
And above the wood-stream's glitter, 
Swallows flew, with merry twitter, 
Many happy memories bringing 
With the cadence of their singing, 
Eising, falling, sinking, swelling; — 
Lingered there within our dwelling, 
Light and graceful as a fairy, 
One fair child — our little Mary. 
She had prayed, in hours of winter, 
That life's taper might be lent her 
Till she saw the Sj^ring-time flowers. 
Heard the birds amid the bowers ; 
Then she said, with gentle sighing, 
" Half the pain is gone of dying." 

Lays passed on, the flowers grew brighter, 
Mary's cheek and forehead whiter ; 
Yet her brow was sweetly laden 
With the white, pure dews of Eden ; 
Love-light o'er her soul was gleaming ; 
Happy, smiling in her dreaming, 



31 



Speaking of the angel-warder, 
Standing at the heavenly border, 
Till at last the soul was given 
Pass-w^ord to the Court of Heaven. 
Not with tears, but smiling rather, 
Gave we Mary to the Father. 



LIJSES. 

Day following dnj, shall weave a web of years 

With filling thick of keenest joy and pain ; 
But oft mine eyes shall overrun with tears, 

For we, belov'd, shall never meet again. 
The Spring-time, with its sisterhood of flowers, 

The Summer's bloom, the Autumn's golden 
grain. 
The Winter's snow will come, and moonlight 
hours, 

But we, belov'd, shall never meet again. 
What ! never meet? Oh yes, my lip belies 

The earnest throbbings of my passionate heart ; 
For, from the shadowy heavens a voice replies — 

" We yet shall meet, and never more to part." 
Oh, thou belov'd, this thought shall soothe my 
tears. 

And radiate the mists of clouds and gloom : 
Afar, afar, in those delightful spheres, 

Where the good rest, our earth-love yet shall 
bloom. 



32 



ONE OF EAETH'S ANGELS. 

She dwelt within a costly home, 

The gentle orphan child ; 
A fragrant wild-tlower, cast upon 

A desert bleak and wild ; — 
No smile she met from day to day ; 
No love-word as life swept away. 

The garret was so dark and cold, 

As sat she there at night, 
Her waving tresses, paly gold, 

Were all that made it light ; 
And sometimes, many tears were shed 
Upon the scanty little bed. 

Yet often, through the window high. 

She gazed, in hope, afar; 
And now caught glimpses of the sky. 

And now of some small star ; 
And now she heard a wild bird sing, 
And caught the rushing of its wing. 

And sometimes, in the quiet night. 

Soft fingers ope'd her eyes ; 
And then it seemed her room was light 

As June's delicious skies ; 
And low, sweet thrilling sounds were made, 
As if an unseen harp was played. 



oil, then life's burdens from her heart 

Were lifted far away, 
And she could bear to live apart 

From worldly love by day ; 
And hear, unmoved, the sounds of mirth, 
That floated up from household hearth. 

One night there glittered on the sky 
A strange, bright shining star ; 

I«t seemed a bright and sunny eye, 
Soft gazing from afar ; 

And then, a sylph-like form of light, 

Wrapped in a cloud of fleecy white. 

When gently fell the day-light beams 

Upon the low straw bed, 
AVhen she had dreamed, as many dreamed, 

The orphan child lay dead ; 
For up the lonely garret stair. 
The angels found a sister fair. 



OF A DEPAETED ONE. 

When the Springtime's gentle flowers 
Scent the softly flying hours. 
My full heart is sweetly laden 
With the memories of a maiden. 
Whose small hand in mine was lying 
When the Spring hours last were dying. 



M 



Few there were to cheer and bless her, 
Few there were to e'er caress her, 
For the grave's thick dusty cover 
Closed o'er those who once did love her ; 
But their memories, in her bosom, 
"Were like dew drops in a blossom. 

Once she said, w^th gentle sighing, — 

'Twas the day before her dying. 

And she spake with great endeavor, — 

''Not alone have I been, ever; 

For, whatever did betide me, 

' Guardian angels ' were beside me. 

" By the stream, and by the meadow ; 
In the sunlight, in the shadow ; 
In the crowd, or sitting lonely 
Where the bright stars sq-w me only ; 
In my waking, in my dreaming. 
Angel eyes were o'er me beaming. 

" I can almost hear the humming 
Of their pinions, at their coming ; 
And their glances, clearly shining. 
Kept my heart from early pining; 
For I knew their love could cover 
All the cold world's frowning over." 

Thus she spake, the gentle maiden. 
With whose memory I am laden ; 



35 



And in whispers kej)t repeating, 
Till her pure heart ceased its beating, 
And the white hand I was clasping, 
Loosed its gentle, gentle grasping. 

Thick the dust upon her bosom ! 
Sweet her sleep — the lovely blossom ! 
Yet in Spring-time's gentle hours, 
' Mid the bees, and birds, and flow^ers. 
My full heart is softly laden 
With the memories of the maiden. 

Do her pinions bright enfold me ? 
Do her blue eyes e'er behold me ? 
Does she leave each fair evangel 
To become my guardian angel ? 
For my heart is ever laden 
With the memories of the maiden ! 



TO A FAYOEITE STEEAM. 

Stream, flowing through my childhood's haunts, 
art thou 

Still the same laughing-hearted, joyous thing 
As when I cast fresh roses on thy brow, 

In the blue morn of life's delicious spring? 
I would give much to hear the bee-like song, 

Bising from thy pure heart in numbers clear, 
O'er the white pebbles, — ah ! it hath been long 

Since paused I there, with smiling lip to hear. 



AVhere are thy haunts? Methinks I see thee still, 

Winding, like silvery threads, with brow of 
light, 
Thy shining arms around the clovered hill, 

Where young birds chirp among the grasses 
bright. 
And balmy breezes bear soft odors down 

The yellow ridges of the rocking wheat — 
Thy every wave a sunbeam's golden crown, 

Thy every tone a waif of music sweet. 

Along the orchard, where the shining leaves 

Flutter and rustle all the summer's day. 
Thy sunny brow full many a leaf receives. 

And wafts it, like a fairy-barque, away, — 
Through the green lawn, where tall trees wave 
on high 

Their strong brown arms ; and this, the quiet 
glen. 
Where sun-like flowers send fragrance to the sky, 

And blessings, through the dew, fall back again. 

Dear, sunny stream, oh! does the sunbeam's woof 

Lie, like gold tissue, on thy singing breast? 
Dost thou still see the steep old homestead roof? 

And the white church spire, melting in the 
west ? 
And hast thou quite forgotten, as the years 

Have slowly circled, with their change, away, 
The joyous-hearted child, whose hopes and fears 

Cast not a shadow further than the day? 



37 

I know not, stream beloved, — when, sick with strife 

And quenchless thirstings, I have thought of 
thee, 
And wished, like thine, the current of m j life 

Floated in quiet beauty toward the sea, — 
But in my heart there is a secret urn, 

A place of purity, and there I keep 
The jewels of my childhood, and I turn 

From the world's music to their place of sleep. 

Stream, loved in childhood, oft I come to thee. 

O'er weary miles, on Thought's mysterious 
wings ; 
Bringing away thy music, as a bee 

Brings the rich honey with the song it sings. 
I know thy haunts by grove, and hill, and dell ; 

By the old homestead, 'neath the willow 
tree ; — 
As of the ocean moans the faithful shell. 

So sings my heart, forevermore, of thee. 



OBSEEYATIOKS AT A PAETY. 

I KNOW there seems a halo 
Around her golden curls. 

That they sparkle with the sj)lendor 
Of diamonds and of jDcarls ; 



!8 



r know her lips are smiling, 
And her brow is wondrous fair; 

But I know, at heart, a canker 
Corrodes each pleasure there. 

For at times her eyes arc downcast, 

Half shadowed with her tears ; 
And her lips conceal their quiver 

By the smile that soon appears. 
I see her snowy fingers 

Close clasp'd upon her brow : 
I tell you, she remembers 

Her first love, even now. 

I heard her sweetly singing 

A well remembered song ; 
Her lips began to falter 

Amid the merry throng ; 
And I know upon her spirit 

There nestled, like a dove, 
The face, the form and features 

Of her young heart's dearest love. 

Yes, yes she does remember 

Her first love, even now ; 
She would take a wreath of roses 

For the jewels on her brow ; 
And exchange that splendid mansion, 

And costly robes, to be 
Attired in simple muslin. 

In a cabin-home with thee. 



39 

Do you notice what u scorning 

On her red lip seems to play 
When she speaks to him whose jewels 

Made her throw her heart away? 
She is trying to be hapj^y — 

She is trying to forget ; 
But, I tell you, she remembers 

Her first love, even yet. 



THE STREAM OF LIFE. 

I. 

On the stream of life is a fairy boat ; — 

Light breezes o'er it creeping; 
Oh, gently, gently doth it float. 

And a child is in it sleeping. 
HoAv softly fall the sunbeams bright 

In the sparkling waves beside it ; — 
And the boat glides on with a motion light, 

For an angel's hand doth guide it. ■ 
Fair, fragile flowers, with buds of snow, 

On the grassy banks are gleaming ; 
AVhile zephyrs kiss the infant's brow. 

And whisper in its dreaming. 
The angel guides the boat along, — 

A cloudless sky is o'er them ; 
The bird of peace trills forth her song, 

And the waves are clear before them. 



40 



II . 
Gently, softly years have past 
Since we saw that infant last, 
Gliding down lifie's sunny tide 
With a gentle angel guide. 
Faster now the streamlet flows, 
Yet its water brightly glows, 
While bright roses by its side 
Sweetly edge its silvery tide ; 
And rich trees, tall, slight and fair, 
Gently wave bright foliage there. 
Now, some clouds of golden hue 
Float 'mid heaven's pure arch of blue ; 
Yet the floating cloudlets seem 
Tinged with pleasure's golden beam. 
Faster, now, the stream doth float, 
Bearing on the fairy boat ; 
And the angel is not there ; 
But the gentle child and fair — 
Not a child but now a youth. 
On his face the seal of truth , — 
He the boat is guiding, now, 
Hope sits on his curl-swept brow. 
Watching o'er him in each place 
Is the guardian angel's face ; 
But the youth sees not the angel. 
With her fair, unclouded brow, 
As she watcheth o'er his journey, — 
He is looking upward now. 
In the distance gleaming there, 
Is a castle built in air ; 



41 



Yet to him it brightly looks 
Firmly built on granite rocks. 
How it glitters in the light — 
Like a star it beameth bright ; 
Oh ! what joy is on his face — 
Soon he thinks to reach the place. 
And the streamlet bright and fair, 

As the gentle breezes' play, 
Seems to guide him swiftly there, 

To the castle far away. 

III. 
Years have past, — ay, years of sorrow, 

Slowly, wearily have passed. 
Bringing many a dark to-morrow, 

Since we saw that youth the last ! 
Since we saw him smilinsr, smiling. 

On the future seeming f\iir ; 
While Hope's voice was so beguiling, 

Promising no touch of care. 
'Now the stream of life is dashiner 

Over many a hidden rock. 
And the billows loud are crashing 

With a dull and weary shock ; 
And the boat is dark and shrouded. 

But the youth is sitting there ; 
Oh ! his brow is sadly clouded 

By the dark hand of despair. 
All seems dark and drear before him ; 

Now he sits with folded arms ; 



42 



Forms of evil hover o'er him, 

Pointing to a thousand harms. 
Years have phxced full many a sorrow 

On that once unclouded brow — 
Disappointment, care and sorrow 

vSit upon his features now ! 
And the castle in the distance 

Long ago has passed away ; 
Now he offers no resistance 

As the rough waves dash to-day. 
Yet, afar off, watching ever, 

Is the angel in her place ; 
He looks up with strong endeavor,— 

Catches hope from her briglit face. 

I V . 
Y^'ears have gone and brought their clianges ; 

See the little boat once more : 
It has passed those raging billows — 

Storm and breakers all are o'er. 
Now 'tis gliding, gently gliding 

Over waves all tipped with light ; 
Scarce a zephyr stirs the billows, 

As they ripple clear and bright. 
There the same, same form is sitting. 

Age's snow is on his brow ; 
All is peace within his bosom, 

Not a care disturbs him now. 
Bathed in folds of richest glory, 

On the blue fields of the west, 



43 



Sinks the sun in mighty splendor, 

To his couch of nightly rest. 
And the little boat seems resting — 

For it moves so silently ; 
And the aged pilgrim looketh 

Peacefully upon the sky. 
In that sky, so blue and tranquil, 

Smiles the angel gently fair. 
Stretching out her arms toward him, 

Calling him to join her there. 
See, the boat is sinking, sinking, 

Not by storm or tempest driven. 
Like a gem beneath the waters, — 

And the pilgrim wakes in Heaven. 



NEAE ME, STILL NEAE ME. 

Near me, still near me when the quiet even 

Steals o'er the busy earth and whispers rest, 
When night's soft veil hangs o'er the shadowy 
heaven. 

And weary bee and bird have sought their rest. 
When the bright stars unveil their glorious faces. 

And the pale moon shines out from the blue sky ; 
Then my fond heart thine image plainly traces. 

Then thou art near me, ever, ever nigh. 

And when the long, long night hath slowly ended, 
And the fair morn breaks o'er the smoky hills ; 



44 

When Beauty's touch with all around is blended, 
When the soft sunlight dances on the rills ; 

When the glad birds are singing in the bowers, 
Or mounting upward to the clouds on high, — 

Then, with the fragrance from the dew-kissed 
flowers, 
Cometh thy voice — near thee, still ever nigh. 

And at the noontide, when the sunlight streaming, 

Comes softly in thy silent, silent room, 
I linger there ; and find myself still dreaming 

Of thy sad fate — taken in life's bright bloom. 
And when I muse and call thine imago near me, 

And think upon thee, lone and silently, — 
Then thy SAVcet voice doth gently, sweetly cheer 
me ; 

I feel thy presence ever nigh. 

Oh, thou art near me, yet still near forever : 

I mingle with the crowd in pleasure's halls, 
I wear a smiling lip with stern endeavor, 

And list to beauty's voice that softly falls 
Upon my ear, and strive to still dissemble 

My secret feelings from the cold world's eye ; 
But my true heart, still, still for thee will tremble ; 

Bright guardian spirit ! thou art ever nigh. 

Thou still art near me, though thy form is sleeping. 

And thy dear voice in solemn silence hushed ; 
Thine eyes were closed ere they were dim with 
weei^ing. 



45 

O thou fair flower, in life'sbright morning crush'd. 
And, though in form I never more shall meet thee, 

'Till we shall meet above the o'erarching sky, 
Yet, still in spirit I may often greet thee ; 

My soul is comforted — thou still art nigh. 



TO AN ABSENT ONE. 

Three times the flowers of early Spring 

Have blossomed in the leafy woods ; 
Three times the swallow's weary wing 

Has fluttered o'er the Ocean's floods ; 
Three times the streams with gladsome sighs 

Have broken from their wintry chains, 
Mirrored the violet's azure eyes, 

And kissed the grassy meadow plains. 

Three times the golden harvest hath 

By busy hands been gathered in ; 
Three times adown the forest's path 

The Autumn's step hath sadly been, — 
Since last I saw thy form depart, 

Since last I felt thy clasping hands. 
And, with a sad, foreboding heart 

Beheld thee start for distant lands 

Where art thou ? Can no echo bring 
An answer to this asking heart, 

To tell thy place of w^andering ? 

Tell me, O lost one, where thou art ? 



46 

Can no winged messenger of air 
Bring back an olive branch of peace 

To hush these waves of deep despair — 

To bid these murmuring heart-tlirobs cease ? 

Can nothing bring my soul the rest 

That once it knew ere far from thee ? 
Or hush these fears within my breast 

That tremble like the asi^eii tree? 
I've watched for thee when morning's light 

Was stealing o'er the distant hill, 
.\.nd oft the solemn stars of night, 

Have found me at my vigil still. 

My soul is sick with doubts and fears ; 

A shadow lies upon my heart ; 
Oh ! three long years — three weary years — 

Have kept us, absent one, apart. 
Yet what is past I now can bear ; 

But that to come I can not know ; 
'Tis this that makes my deep despair — 

'Tis this that fills my heart with wo. 

if I but knew that thou art cla}-, 

And done for aye with care and strife : 
But this suspense will wear away, 

Slowly, but sure, the chords of life. 
For three long years — for three long years — 

I've watched for thee with sad regret, 
If thou art in this "vale of tears," 

Return to those who love thee vet. 



47 



LILLIA AND MAEY. 

Fair troops of shining angels 

On drooping wings are placed, 
Upon the Parian marble 

Where Lillia's name is traced. 
But on a mossy headstone, 

You read our Mary's name; 
And but a rose tree o'er her, 

Drops leaves of sunset flame. 

One sleeps in costly satin ; 

And 'round her raven hair 
Are pearls of rarest splendor, 

Amid the darkness there. 
But Mary's robe of muslin 

Lies softly 'neath her hands; 
And, unadorned, her tresses 

Fall in long golden bands. 

Fair Lillia sleeps in silence 

Amid the city's walls. 
And through the white dust rising, 

The sunlight dimly foils. 
But softl}', sweetly, silent, 

Is Mary's peaceful rest, — 
You can almost hear the alders 

Drop blooms upon her breast. 



48 



A mourner, proud and stately, 

Bends over Lillia's clay ; 
You can hear the rich robes rustle 

As sad she moves away. 
But over little Mary, 

A child with bronzed cheek 
Kneels every morn and even', 

With resignation meek. 

Two little children sleeping, 

Whatever storms may blow ; 
One dwelt amid the splendor 

Of luxury below ; 
The other, on the greensward, 

Moved o'er the velvet leaves ; 
And slept amid the flowers, 

" Like birds beneath the eaves." 

Two happy little children, 

Christ's blessing on their bi'ow; 
On earth they had no meeting, 

But tlicy are sisters now ! 
They know and love each other, 

In the celestial land ; 
Their lips one song arc trilling, 

As stand they hand in hand. 



49 



THEY MET BUT ONCE. 

They met but once, — as clouds of light. 

On some blue lake of sky, 
Touch their soft cheeks some summer's night, 
And link their misty hands of white, 

Then separate for aye. 

They met but once. — as rain drops meet 

In summer's radiant bow ; 
It was enough to prove how fleet. 
How^ like a rose-life, brief and sweet, 
Are perfect hours below. 

Into her placid soul he gazed, 

He knew 'twas pure and fair ; 
And, when to hia her orbs were raised, 
Her heart was not abashed, amazed, 
To see her image there. 

No earth-love caused a single thrill 

To pulsate in his breast ; 
And star-like, suddenly and still, 
Like sunset on some lake-like rill, 

Her thoughts went down to rest. 

They parted as those clouds that swept 

Across the sky above ; 
Each for the other ever kept 



50 



A holy thought that never slept, 
Illuminate with love. 

They parted when the moon's fair rim 

AYas resting on the sea ; 
How could his heart fail, hope grow dim. 
She was in the same world with liim, 

Wherever he might be. 

And she had gathered strength and light 

To meet the world's loud strife ; 
The soul within was ever bright, 
Thus could she brave the darkest night 
That settled over life. 

They parted. Journe^^ing side by side 
Were booii for earth too sweet ; 

Beyond the grave those souls so tried, 

By angels wedded, purified. 
Again, again, shall meet. 



THE INDIAN'S FAREWELL. 

Is it farther west? Is it farther west? 
The isle of peace, and the land of rest ; 
I had thought to lie where my fathers lie, 
AYhere my fathers died I had thought to die; 
And the notes of my death song, low and clear, 
To die away in my strong heart here. 



51 

But in vain the hope — the wish in vain — 

I turn my steps to the West again : 

I turn from the mound so green and low, 

Where the sunlight falls, and the south winds 

blow, 
While waves of agony shake my breast, 
To the distant West, to the far off West. 

"T^ •^ "^ ?i^ *^ *^ ^^ 

I have journeyed long, o'er hills and plains, 

O'er rivers wide, o'er mountain chains ; 

I have slept while the light of the stars was 

bright. 
In the broad blue tent of the skies at night; 
And heard the strong north wind that blows 
From the icy lips of the god of snows. 

And I am here in the distant AVest ; 

Yet where, oh where is the land of rest? — 

For even here a shadow falls 

From the low brown caves of the white man's 

walls ; 
And 'neath the pines, at the close of day, 
The pale face rests where the children play. 

I hear the loud Pacific roar, 
As the dark waves dash on the sandy shore, — 
Must I tempt the deep, in my light canoe ? 
Must my paddle sound on the waters blue? 
And is there an island npon its breast 
Where the aged warrior at last may rest? 



ijj 



Oh, wan is the light of my once bright eye ; 

I am old, and weak, and soon must die. 

I had thought to find my brothers here ; 

And hunting-grounds, with the fleet young deer, 

Where birds might sing, and young bees hum, 

And the sound of the white man's voice ne'er come. 

I had thought to find, in these dingles deep. 
Full many a haunt where the wolf might sleep ; 
Where the panther's eyes, in glaring bright. 
Look down through the thick green leaves at 

night; — 
I had thought my arrow again might rest 
AYith unerring aim in the eagle's breast. 

But in vain, in vain ! I can only die, 
With a heart untamed, and a tearless eye. 
They will scoop my grave in the j^ellow clay. 
And the white man's children o'er me i^lay ; 
With their lips of rose, and golden hair : 
But where are the red man's children, where? 
A scattered, and wronged, and broken band ; 
But there is rest in the Spirit Land. 



THE CHILD TEACHEE. 

As a small spear of steel may turn aside 
The mighty thunderbolt, so, oft a word 
May change the whole strong current of a life. 
And I remember of a little child 



^3 

O'er whom the soft hues of the summer days 
Had sweetly brightened but few times, and then 
The tiny feet grew weary of the way ; 
Although for her it had been fair and soft, 
With dewy mosses and sweet flowers ; for she 
Was the heart-treasure of a man for whom 
The seals of gold were ever loosened. Soft, 
8oft was the pillow and the couch of down ; 
And daintily around the slight fair form 
The silken robes were folded ; and the light 
Came dimly to the half closed eyes, and not 
A sound of discord floated through the room. 
Yet, when the shining angels have entwined 
Affection's shreds around a human heart, 
The arms of earth-love must unclasp their hold; 
And so the soft light faded from her eyes, — 
The little form grew less ; and when the hands 
Were raised, they fell, like snow-flakes, softly back. 
The strono; man trembled when he saw her feet 
Ste2:)ping so close the shadowy halls of death. 
But when her words were faintest whispers, he 
Bent his tall form and heard her say, " The path 
Is very beautiful that winds along 
Unto the golden pathway of the sky : 
E'en now a light streams o'er the gates of death, — 
' Tis but a moment's darkness, — and there stands 
A gentle angel that will let me in." 
Then stood he still, that proud, stern -hearted man ; 
And saw his little child, who, in her life, 
Trembled in terror when the winds of night 
Howled by, pass calmly thro' the dark clasped gates 



d4 

Of death, ^vith the bright sliiniug star of Faith 
Beaming above her, calm and radiantly. 
Like an ice-wreath beneath the sun, his heart, 
So stern and cold, was melted ; and he sought 
The simple child-faith, that could lead him on, 
XJntrembling, through the valley of the shade. 



I HAYE CEASED TO LOYE THEE. 

No more the crimson rushes o'er thy brow, 
Or the strong tide of love comes to my heart 
]n wild and gushing sweetness, when we meet ; 
No more do thoughts of thee wake feelings deep, — 
Too deep for utterance, — and, no more canst thou. 
With thy rich voice, call up that witching train 
Of answering sympathies. Once thou hadst the 

power 
To search the chambers of my soul, and bring 
From its recess, its richest, rarest gems. 
Unmoved I meet thee now, and thou dost smile 
With careless lips, and sj^eak in chilling tones; 
And I can answer back, with tones as cold 
Amid the busy crowd. 

But when, apart 
From their communion, thou dost come to me, 
And thy low voice sjDcaks in the silvery tones 
Of" by -gone days;" thine eyes again call back 
Their fond expression,— ^ yet in vain, in vain. 
As some faint, lingering spark, that slowly dies 



'Mid the long night hours, so my lingering love 
Faded and glimmered, — pale and paler still, — 
Till, by and by, the last faint ray went out ; 
And no reviving hand can call it back 
To light again, forever. 

Xo : in vain ; 
Think not the passion-tones of other days ; 
xVffection's smiles, or looks of perfect love. 
Can now revive it — gone, forever gone ! 
And " I HAVE ceased to love thee, evermore." 
Thy letters, filled with love, endearing names 
That thou hast often called me, strike no more 
The harp strings of my lonely heart. 

Ah ! when 
The flower of love is dead, affection's dew, 
Or the soft sunlight coming from the heart, 
Can bid its leaves expand no more. And yet, 
Some fragrance oft may linger in its buds, 
And so some memories of thee are still 
Enfolded in my bosom ; but the flower 
Of hoi}', soul -enthralling lovG is dead. 
Yes, it is dead ; for I can wander now 
Amid our trysting- spots, and list the songs 
Of woodland music, and the streamlet's hum ; 
See the fair flowers — sweet miniatures of those 
Thou once didst make " love's language," — and 

my heart, 
It would not call thee back. 

Blame me not 
That "I HAVE ceased to love thee;" for some 

hand — 



5(j 

Some strange, mysterious hand, with stealthy 

grasp, 
Unwound the tendrils of my clinging love, 
And bade me to forget thee. 

But blame me not ; 
For never was a worthier soul than thine 
Seeking its kindred soul ; but mine can give 
Thine own no answer. Then, by all the past, — 
The withered past, — ask not, again, that I 
Should turn my sj^irit to thee — I can love 
Thee never, never more. 



TO THE MEMORY OF A FTUENI). 

Jt seems so strange that tliou art dead ! 

Thou of the young and bounding lieart ; 
Yet I have stood beside th}^ bed. 

Where, tearing the long grass apart. 
They laid thee down : and I have heard 

The cry of hearts half broken there — 
The soul's deep hidden fountain stirred 

By the strong wings of earnest prayer. 

Gone ! gone ! it hath a mournful sound ! 

Thus friend by friend must pass away ; 
Love's wreath is like the roses bound, 

Whose brightness withers in a day ; 
And in some fair and cloudless time, 

A shadow falls, whose black'ninir crloom 



0/ 



Is only lifted in that clime 
Where trees of life immortal bloom. 

Oh ! memories sweet I have of thee ! 

Together we in childhood strayed, 
And yonder is the old beech tree, 

Beneath whose branches we have played. 
•But ah ! the frosts have fallen there, 

And ever}' leaf is dry and brown. 
But never, on thy brow so fair, 

Can life's rough winter settle down. 

Sleep, dear one, sleep ! the turf slitill grow 

Freshly upon thy quiet breast ; 
And there the summer winds shall go. 

Singing their songs above thy rest. 
But thou wilt know no chano-e of scene. 

And whether all the world is bright, 
The soft skies blue, the woodlands green, 

AVith May-time's fair and golden light. 

Or tempests moving through the sky, 

Or snow drifts piled upon thy breast, 
It matters not ; no spell can lie 

Upon the brightness of thy rest. 
Then let us shed no tears for thee, 

Our thoughts to thy jDure life be given ; 
Thy barque swept o'er a quiet sea. 

And anchor 'd by the gates of heaven. 



58 



THE GUAEDIAN ANGEL. 

They said he was aloiie ; 

The thin, frail hand that gently held his own 

Came not to their dim sight. 
They often wondered what sweet spell he kept, 
When o'er his face a sudden radiance crept, 

As though his eyes were looking toward 
the light. 

And to the outward view, 

There was no brightness all his life-way thro' ; 

No slightest shreds of love 
Bound his lone heart to any throbbing mate — 
Orphaned and homeless, friendless, desolate. 

Upon life's waters wild a wandering dove. 

But oh, not so, not so, 

He heard a music they could never know 

Whose scorn was on his head ; 
As the soft mist of summer's morning bright. 
About his way there seemed a ridge of light. 

From some sapphirian censer softly shed. 

At times he heard the rings. 

As though a pair of white, invisible wings 

Were folded o'er his head ; 
He felt the claspings of a gentle hand, 



59 

And journeyed on toward the unseen land, 

With sweet heart-sheltered prayers to words 
unwed. 

With this celestial guide — 

This quiet foot-fall ever by his side, 

Life's bitterest woes were small. 
Though smiles and loving words were not for 

him. 
And want's black cup was filled up to its brim, 

The joy within his heart could cancel all. 

1^0 sigh, no sad complaint 

Escaped the lips of this poor pilgrim saint. 

From weary day to day ; 
They did not know, that, blessed and sin for- 
given, 
Hi.s little feet were journeying near to heaven. 

Where tears are ever, ever wiped away. 

Once, when his golden locks 
Straightened with dew the while iie watched 
his flocks. 
And Night put on her crown, 
He sat alone, — his heart within him stirred 
To a sweet music until then unheard. 

As though some seraph's harp sent echoes 
down. 

And to his fading eyes 

There seemed an angel walking down tlie skies. 



GO 

With a calm smile of love. 
His pale face glowed with a celestial fire ; 
He heard a sweet voice, saying, " Come up 
higher ; 
Come to the ark of peace, poor wandering 
dove." 

Dawn came; they found him there. 

The dew-drops melting on his rippled hair — 

Smiles on the upturned face; 
The azure eyes, whose brightness scarce was hid, 
Ijooked heavenward still from each pure waxen 
lid — 
The}^ knew he slept in some fair saint's 
embrace. 

Said they, with whispers light, 
The Clialdean shepherds watched their flocks 
bv nio-ht, — 

An angel came to them ; 
And this sweet child Avith smiles upon his brow, 
Our hardened hearts do inly envy now, 

For he hath seen the Babe of Bethlehem." 



EVENING THOUGHTS. 

O EARTH ! thou art most beautiful ; — 

As I look forth to-night. 
The sk}^ is fleeced with fairy clouds, 

Tinged with a pale light ; 



61 

And the crescent moon is shining 
All gloriously bright. 

All quietly and sweetly 

The flowers are folded now, 

With dewy gems upon their hearts, 
And blushes on their brow, 

While wind-harps thrill melodiously 
In every forest bough. 

My full heart gushes over 

With strange and mournful flow ; 
And mystic memory leads me 

Back to the long ago, 
Ere came a shadow o'er my soul — 

An undertone of woe. 

I do not weep that swiftly 
My barque of life floats on ; 

I would not if I could return 

To childhood's brightning dawn — 

I would not taste again the bliss 
Of hours forever gone. 

Oh no ! each revolution 

Of Time's ne'er ceasing wheel 

Brings but the light and shadows 
That every heart must feel — 

As the goddess of the future 
Her changes doth reveal. 



6: 



Earth, earth, thou art most beautiful. 

Yet sorrow dwelleth here ; 
The thorn crown presseth heavily 

While falls affections tear ; 
And the brightest path hath something 

To make a mortal drear. 

Oh, earth, thou art most beautiful; 

But lovelier the sky ; 
Each Avoe below but fits us 

For journeying on high ; — 
If earth were all a paradise. 

We would not wish to die. 



I DEExVMED NOT TIIOU DIDST LOVE ME. 

A REPLY TO " I KNEW NOT THAT I LOVED HER." 

I DREAMED not thou didst love me ! 

Too late the words were said ; 
I saw thy tear-drops falling, 

Too late those tears were shed, 
I never thought to win thee, 

So proud and cold wast thou, — 
To see the blushes drifting 

In crimson o'er thy brow ! 

I dreamed not thou didst love me ! 
I thought thee heartless, stern, 



63 



That thy proud spirit never 
For human love wouki yearn ; 

Yet had I dared to worship 
Fervently and long, 

In solitude and silence, 
In sunshine and in song. 

Through hours of wildest sorrow, 

Through years of dark despair, 
How fervently I loved thee, 

'No language may declare ; 
How far my pride misled me, 

How well the mask was worn, 
How bled beneath the jewels 

The brow with thistles torn. 

T dreamed not thou didst love me ! 

Why came the knowledge — why 
This bright star in the morning, 

When the weary night was by ? 
While yearning in the darkness, 

And weeping for its ray, 
It came not in the midnight, 

Why mock me in the day ? 

I dreamed not thou didst love me, 
]^or thon my love couldst know,— 

Each pining for the other, 
Both smiling in our woe ! 

Had then some chance revealed us, 
Some smile, or word, or look. 



Gi 

"What vows might now be written 
In life's recording book ! 

The eating, wasting canker 

Of silent woe concealed 
The inner throb and flutter 

Of the breast that pride hatli steeled, 
The weary task of smiling 

In fashion's crowded mart, 
The slow, continuous torture 

Of the fire within tlie heart ! 

All this we bore in silence, — 

All this for weary years ; 
Then came the fearful knowledge, 

Then came thy tardy tears ! 
I turned, it may be coldly. 

From that wild plea of thine, 
For another heart was throbbing 

In every pulse with mine. 

Go, go ! the world hath many, 

The good, the pure, and fair ; 
To take to thy heart some blossom, 

And wear it gently there ; 
And bless the chance that drifted 

Our life-barques far apart — 
Forget that thou didst cherish 

My memory in thy heart ! 



65 



I WILL TEY TO LOVE HIM, MOTHEE. 

I WILL try to love him, mother ; for thy sake I 

will try — 
Repress the falling tear-drops, crush back each 

rising sigh. 
I will learn to mask my feelings, my secret woes 

to hide, 
I will go to meet him, mother; I will be — will 

be — his bride. 

The struggle was most bitter, too deep for tears 

my woe ; 
I knew not I could live, and such torture ever 

know. 
I am trembling like an aspen, my cheek is cold 

and white; 
Oh, it seems like years, my mother, long years 

since yesternight. 

I will try to love him, mother; this is all that I 
can do ; 

I know his deep devotion, I will strive to prize 
it too ; 

I will wed him, I will wed him ; thou shalt never 
say again. 

That my poor heart 's ungrateful, that thy plead- 
ings were in vain. 
6 



6(j 

I will try to love him, mother ; his home is rich 
and fair; .; 

I will try to be a sunbeam of peace and brightness 
there ; 

I will give his guests a welcome, with sweet and 
earnest grace; 

Oh, none shall read my heart, mother, when look- 
ing on my face. 

Thou hast often, often told me, that my face was 

very fair, 
My brow like polished marble, 'noath golden 

waves of hair. 
And like a May -time rose-bud, my softly dimpled 

cheek. 
My eyes like moonlit azure — and I loved to hear 

thee speak; 

For I thought I'd be beloved, that was all my 

poor heart sought. 
And my life would not be barren — there was 

rapture in the thought. 
But that blessed hope hath darkened, and my life 

is all the worse, 
And I know, and feel too deeply, that my beauty 

is a curse. 

Thou art selling me for gold, mother ! It seems so 

strange that thou 
Canst of his wealth and splendor be calmly speak- 

iner now: 



67 

I care not for the jewels that may my locks 

enwreath, 
Nor the robes whose fairy lightness so mocks the 

heart beneath. 

They are nothing to me, mother; my thoughts 

must ever go 
To a cottage in a valley, with its mossy roof so 

low ; 
The nightingale \s soft singing from the roof-tree's 

tuft of leaves, 
And the robins and the swallows building nests 

beneath the eaves. 

And another memory, mother, must haunt me till 

I die ; 
The ghosts of broken troth -plights along my 

heart will cry ; 
The elm-tree by the river can not whisi:)er of the 

vows 
Plighted in the quiet starlight, when the dew was 

on the boughs. 

JSTay, chide me not so coldly : Oh, let me wildly 

weep ; 
JSTo eye may mark my weakness, for the night is 

dark and deep. 
My heart will break with throbbing, if my tears 

I now restrain ; 
Oh, tlie past, the past was bright, mother; it can 

not come aarain. 



68 

I know that he was poor, mother ; no gems could 

he bestow ; 
I have no excuse to offer; but I loved, I loved 

him so, 
That a lone and sandy desert, or a cavern deep 

and dim 
As the grave, had been an Eden, if its glooms I 

shared with him. 

I dreamed of him, last night, mother; I went 

back to the past ; 
Heaven grant that mocking vision may be the 

last, the last. 
I thought it was flush May-time, and all the dells 

were bright 
With buttercups and daisies, unfolding in the 

light. 

His circling arm about me, the glad blue sky 
above ; 

To me life seemed a rapture, with the blessings 
of his love. 

He was speaking of our bridal, with his soft and 
thrilling tone ; 

And his deep dark eyes were misty as they 
looked into mine own. — 

Then a serpent coiled about me, — in my dream- 
ing it was so, — 

And I loathed the light of morning, for it brought 
me back to woe. 



69 

I will wed, I will wed thy choice, mother ; will 

rend those links apart 
That bind me to that dreaming — I will bear a 

martyred heart. 
It will i^rove my deep affection, that, to gratify 

thy pride, 
I stabbed my own fund heart, mother ; that for 

thy sake I dio(I. 



"I CHANGE BUT m DYING." 

CHANGE not then, thou hast lov'd me here. 
Wilt thou love me less in another sphere? 

1 can not think that our truth shall decay 
With the last unclasp of these bonds of clay. 
I can not think, when I close thine eyes, 

And kiss from the lips the last low sighs, 

Oh, I can not think ^hen we meet above 
We will feel no thrill of earth-born love. 

I shall know thee there, I shall know thee there 

By the rippling waves of thy sunny hair, 

By the holy light of thine azure eye. 

By the lip's sweet smile, and the heart's reply; 

For surely death will not quite erase 

The earthly look of thy childlike face — 

Yes, yes, by the love I gave thee here, 

I shall know thee still in another sphere. 



70 

Yes, thou wilt be mine in the •' better land," 
AYhere full harps sound, and the angels stand ; 
Wlien the light, that falls on cheek and brow, 
AYill bring no change, as it brings thee now; 
AVhcrc no strong hand can tear apart 
The briij-ht love-ties of the faithful heart. 
B}^ the truth and faith I gave thee here, 
1 sliall love thee still in another sphere. 

Farewell, fiarewell, like a gentle dove 
Tliou wilt soon fly home to the ark of love; 
Lay thy dear head here, on this faithful breast ; 
Thou art weary now, but soon wilt rest. 
Let me feel the clasp of thy small white hand, 
Tn the last good bye for the better land ; 
Keep, keep thy truth when we meet above, 
Let thy heart meet mine in its trusting love. 

Farewell, farewell, thou art going now, 

The hue of death is upon th}' brow; 

\Yilt thou come again, in the silent night. 

And speak sweet words, while the stars are bright? 

Shall I look for thee in vain, in vain. 

In sorrow, or sadness, joy, or j^ain? 

Lave, lave my brow from the holy springs. 

With the drops of faith from thy shining Avings. 



Thou art gone, gone, gone; they will place from 

sight 
The gentle form in its robe of white ; 



71 

They will lay thee down where the alders bloom, 
In the wide, dark arms of the solemn tomb. 
Oh, how shall I weep o'er the mound of clay, 
As the w^eary j^ears glide slowly away. 
Farewell, farewell, I have loved thee here, 
I shall meet thee, soon, in another sphere. 



GEOEGE D. PEE^N^TICE. 

On ! THOU wilt love me less, 
Less in the hour we meet ; 

It is no face of loveliness 

Thy dreams have made so sweet. 

Thy soul hath trusted mine ! 

And mine, oh mine ! thine own ; 
My future all bereft of thine. 

Were cheerless, sad, and lone. 

Sweet absent friend, as yet 

Our ways have led aj^art ; 
Thine earnest eyes I ne'er have met, 

Nor heard thy throbbing heart; 

But sometimes, when I stand 
Dreaming of lovely things, — 

What time the gloaming o'er the land 
Hath sj^read its golden wings ; 



?•:> 



What time the muiden moon 
Looks shyly on the waves, 

And listens to the solemn tune 
Flowing from mermaid caves, — 

Oh ! at that time I think 

Thou com'st, tlie fond, tlie true, 

To drink my tlioughts as lilies drink 
xYt night the shining dew. 

Let not a single tie 

That binds onr souls be reft ; 
One after one life's joys go by, 

But may this one be left. 

Then let us never meet. 
Oh ! name no future hour ; 

The bud has been so very sweet, 
Something would blight the flower, 



TO LEDA. 



The orchard trees are white with flowers. 
And I am sitting 'neath their bloom, 

.Dreaming the aromatic hours * 

Away in soft perfume. 

A sort of gentle music floats 
Melodiously to mine ear ; 



/ •> 



Of bees' low murmurs, and the notes 
Of bird sono's low but clear. 



'&' 



Long years ago, an eve as fair 

As this, beneath the odorous flowers, 
Their blooms upon our mingled hair 

Fell slowly through the hours. 
Nor bees' low murmur, nor the birds 

Last nestling twitter met my ear ; 
I listened to the lips whose words 

I'm pining now to hear. 

That was our last fond meeting — years 

Have circled slowly by since then ; 
But, oh 1 to-night my spirit hears 

Thy parting words again. 
In all their music-lulling tone ; 

In all the sadness of farewell, 
I feel the pressure in ni}^ own 

Of hands invisible. 

The orchard trees arc white with flowers, 

And I am sitting 'neath their bloom, 
Breathing the aromatic hours 

Away in soft perfume ; 
The evening star is shining clear. 

And odorous breezes tremble by ; 
I call thy name, and pause to hear 

Thy gentle voice reply. 



74 



ALL DAY. 

All day I have walked as one haunted, 

With step light as snow : 
All day have been wrapped in a vision 

Of dear long ago, — 
A child with a heart like a throstle, 

So joyous and gay ; 
To whom life was as fair as the blowing 

Of roses in May. 
I have dreamed of the trees whose bright shadows 

Touched homestead and well, 
Of the stream that plunged over the mill wheel, 

And laughed as it fell ; 
Of the wood, where my dear buried playmate 

And I used to go. 
Of the lake where the swamp flowers of crimson 

Were pictured below ; 
Of the meadow, whose snowy urned lilies 

She twined o'er her brow — 
That forehead is colder and whiter 

Than lily-urns now ! 
All day she has haunted me gently. 

But not like a ghost; 
I have seen her, and fair in her beauty. 

Forgot she is lost ! 
I have heard the glad gush of her laughter, 

As sweet as the lute ; 
And forgot, in that precious nepenthe, 

The lijDS that are mute ! 



70 

All day I have lost in mj' dreaming, 

My burden of woe, 
And forgot that on her still bosom 

Is sifted the snow ! 
Oh ! dreamings of life and of gladness, 

Of pulses that thrill, 
Ye banish Death's couch, where the loved ones 

Lie silent and chill. 
Oh ! let me yet dream that she loves me, 

And watch eth me here ; 
Though her home and her rest is above me. 

In some fairer sphere. 
Let me see her in childhood's ripe beauty, 

With cheeks red with bloom ; 
But not in the calm waxen whiteness 

And sleep of the tomb. 
Come often, sweet glimpses of Eden, 

M}' heart is so lone ; 
Come often, dear hopes of the heaven 

To which she is gone. 
So that, gathering hope from the present, 

And love from the past, 
I may walk calmly on to the future. 

And greet her at last 



THE MAPLE TEEE. 

Oh, the maple tree, the maple tree, 
It hath a whisper that speaks to me; 
There are many trees on the forest's breast, 
But of any and all, from east to west. 



76 

The sugar maple I love the best. 

Oh, the maple tree, the maple tree, 

It hath a whisper that comes to me 

When the leaves bud out, in the early spring, 

And the moss grows bright, and the thrushes 

sing. 
And bees sweep by with humming wing, 
And shy flowers bloom in silent dells; 
Where lilies keep time, with their golden 

bells, 
To the song of the breeze as he stoojDS to woo. 
Half in earnest and half untrue ; 
Where the violets blue, in love with the 

dew, 
Live their sweet life of sunshine through ; 
And from their sleep the waters creep, — 
Afraid, at first, then bound away, 
Fetterless, glad as a lamb at play. 
Oh, the maple tree, the maple tree, 
It hath a whisper that speaks to me, — 
That tells of a girl with golden hair, 
Whose lips, like the summer roses are. 
In the time of June, when the maiden moon 
Singeth her visible, voiceless tune. 
That stood, 'neath the boughs of the maple 

tree, 
In the dear old sugar camp, with me, — 
When the fire flashed bright 'neath the kettle, 

at night, 
Lighting the woods with a crimson light, 
And the circling eddies of golden foam 



77 

Were sweet and rich as the honey -comb ; 
And the grand old woods were a solemn 

dome, 
Illumed by the stars, its censer the flowers, 
Its organ the winds of the midnight hours ; 
The worshipers, trees, that to the sky 
Lifted their dark, dark arms on higli, 
While every leaf breathed forth a sigh, 
'Till our hearts shook with a chilli no; fear, 
And ghostly footstej^s we seemed to hear. 
O maple tree, O maple tree, 
Thou hath a whis^^er that haunteth me ; 
For thou didst stand by the homestead wall, 
Xear the dash of the silvery waterfall; 
Thy leaves fell then on the mossy sill, — 
Thy leaves, dear tree, — and they fall there 

still. 
But the gladsome child that lingered there 
Is moaning in sorrow, otherwhere;-— 
Hath felt the gloom of life settle down ; 
Hath braided of sorrow its thorniest crown ; 
Hath stood o'er the grave of love that was 

true, 
And the false, dead love of the living, too; 
Hath felt the clasp of the parting hand ; 
Hath walked by the edge of the unknown 

land : 
And the hope and the fear, the smile and the 

tear. 
Hath known — 'tis the doom of the dweller 

here. 



78 



maple tree, O maple tree, 
Quick as a thought thou leadest me 

To the clear, soft, witching light that plays 
Over the grave of buried days. 
And 'neath thy branches I sit me down, 
Wearing thy leaves as a lethe crown ; — 
Forgetting the struggles, the sighs, the tears 
That are folded up in the arms of years; 
And casting the pride from my aching heart, 
The mask from the broAV that hides its 

smart, 
Rending the sordid links aj^art 
That fetter me down to the false world's 

art ; — 
Forgetting all that the crowd hath taught — 
" Measure for measure, and naught for 

naught." 
Count by heart the golden hours, 
And time, by the folding up of flowers, 
Love, by its quiet, star-like shine. 
And truth by the clear eyes meeting mine, — 
And all, all things by that placid sky 
That shines, like an angel's robe, on high, 
Before we have learned the world's great 

lie ; 
Before the serpent, with his hiss too SAveet, 
Hath crept with his shining by our feet. — 
For the dream of truth, though dream it be, 

1 bless thee, I thank thee, O maple tree. 



79 



SINCE YOU AND I WEEE YOUNG. 

I'm standing by the window sill 

Where we have stood of yore ; 
The sycamore is waving still 

Its branches near the door ; 
And near me creeps the wild-rose vine 

On which our wreaths were hung — 
Still round the porch its tendrils twine, 

As when w^e both were young. 

The little path that used to lead 

Down by the river shore, 
Is overgrown with briar and weed, — 

Not level as before. 
But there's no change upon the hill 

From whence our voices rung — 
The violets deck the summit still, 

As when we both were young. 

And yonder is the old oak tree, 

Beneath whose spreading shade. 
When our young hearts were light and free, 

In innocence we played ; 
And over there the meadow gate 

On which our playmates swung, 
Still standing in its rustic state. 

As when we both were young. 



80 



I see the little moss-grown spot, 

Beneath the yew-tree's shade, 
Where early friends, perchance forgot, 

In earth's embrace are laid ; 
The early friends of hope and trust, 

'Eound whom our being clung, 
All slumber coldly in the dust, 

vSince you and I were young. 



THE SEAMSTRESS. 

A DIRGE, and an open grave, 

A coffin upon the bier; 
Then the clay fell over the care-worn breast. 
And a form went down to its place of rest, 
Like a weary bird to her evening nest 

Tn the tall trees waving near. 

She had struggled long with life. 

Long with her weight of woe, 
Till her e^'es were dim with their flood of tears, 
Till her breast was sick with its hopes and fears ; 
She had struggled on through weary years. 

Till the sands of life were low. 

She had toiled from the early morn, 

When over the sleeping earth 
The clear bright rays of the sunlight fell 
Over the city, forest and dell ; 



81 



And music woke like a fairy bell, 

With a tremulous sound of mirth. 

Till the golden sun was set, 

And the changing day gone by, 

And the stars shone forth like diamonds bright 

Set in the jeweled crown of Night ; 

And the moon pour'd forth her flood of light 
From the fiir-off azure sky. 

Till her rounded cheek grew pale, 

AYith her Avear}', toilsome lot; 
Xo friends were near, with their fond caress, 
To speak kind words, to soothe and bless ; 
But she struggled on in her loneliness, 

["^nnoticed and forgot. 

Like a fettered bird long caged, 

Which is at length released, 
Her soul flew forth from its cage of clay 
Into the fields of light and day, 
Where her spirit knows no more decay, 

But all shall whisper peace. 

Thc}^ have placed her in the tomb : 

None shed a sorrowing tear ; 
The busy world will go plodding on ; 
The night shall come, and the morning dawn 
For long, long years, yet the spirit gone, 

No more shall suffer here. 



82 



MEMENTOES. 

A TINY tress of hair, 
That,. trembling, falls in curls of sunny hno, 

I see before me there, 
While memory brings the owner's form t«» view. 

She was a pale-brow \1 child, — 
Like as a spring-bud, frosted ere its bloom, — 

With pure heart, undefiied. 
Death bore the cherub from us to the tomb. 

A fragrant, faded wreath 
Of pal}' flowers. Oh ! they were given to me 

Fresh from the dewy heath. 
By one I never more on earth shall see. 

For came a stealthy hand, 
And bore the maiden, in her days of j'outh, 

I"p to the better land, 
Where all is peace, pure, perfect love and ti'utli. 

A ring, with clasped hands 
Carved on the gold. It was the gift of one, 

Who now, in distant lands. 
Stands 'neath the brightness of a southern sun. 

Where the ambrosial breeze 
Thrills in a}olian music thro' the bowers. 

There, where the orange trees 
Wave 'neath the blue sk}'- sweetly-scented flowers, 

Wliile. with a painter's eye. 



H3 

He views each scene, I wonder if he yet 

Doth ever give a sigh 
To one he vowed he never would forget. 

A locket next I ope, 
And thro' ray tears an image dear I see. 

Oh ! every star of hope, 
L ight of my life, lies in the grave with thee ; 

Dear image, while I look. 
The jmst comes dimly pictured to my view, 

In memory's solemn book ; 
Then fades away like drops of morning dew. 

The world is dark, 
Since thou art gone — yet I will sigh no more ; 

Soon will life's barque 
Waft me to thee, where 2)arting shall be o'er. 



WHY DID I WEEP WHE:N^ JOHNNY DIED? 

Why did I weep when Johnny died ? 

I scarcely, scarcely know ; 
They laid him by the river side. 

In shroud as white as snow. 
Now that the waves of agony 

Have partly rolled away, 
Why I did weep when Johnny died, 

I scarcely know to-day. 



84 



L had none else to love me, none ; 

For his sake I could bear 
The blow and taunting word from one 

Whose life I have to share. 
He was no drunkard in the day, 

The bright day wo were wed, — 
Alas ! that I should live to sa}^, 

" I would that I were dead." 

Yet life, till little Johnny died, 

AVas not a barren thing, — 
'Twas like the star-beam on the tide, 

The blossom in the sjiring. 
But often for a crust of bread 

That gentle prattler cried, — 
'Tis strange, yes, ver}" strange to think 

I wept when Johnny died. 

He 's living in the Father's house, 

On that far distant shore, 
\yherc he will never feel the cold, 

Or hunger any more. 
I saw him standing by my bed, 

In robe of spotless white ; 
I saw him in my fever dreams, 

Sweet smiling, yester-night. 

' Tis sad to see a little mound 
Shine with a mother's tears ; 

And sad the closing of the wound 
Slow healing thro' the years. 



h.) 



But, oh ! the suddest^ bitterest hour 

That darkens o'er a life 
Is that when shrieks the bleeding heart, 

" I am a drunkard's wife ! " 



SEEENADE. 



The breeze is singing softly 
To the young bird on the tree ; 

And if the breeze is singing, 
Shall not I sing to thee, 

Jennie, darling? 
Shall not I sing to thee ? 

The humble flower is looking 
Toward the evening star. 

As I look to thee, my dearest, 
And worship from afar, 

Jennie, darling — 
And worship from afar. 

Perhaps thy dark brown lashes 
Lie softly on thy cheek ; 

Then let thy spirit listen, 
And hear me as I speak, 

Jennie, darling — 
A.nd hear me as I speak. 



86 

Oh! let me, let me love thee, 
And worship from afar ; 

For thou art far above me 
As yonder beauteous star, 

Jennie, darling — 
As yonder beauteous star. 

And let me pour my spirit 
In one deep song to thee ; 

Give but one glance, one token 
My talisman to be, 

Jennie, darling — 
My talisman to be. 

She hears ! she smiles ! my spirit 

Soars like a bird afar ! 
I half forget the distance 

Between me and the star, 

Jennie, darling — 

Between me and the star. 



Good night ! — or is it moruing? 

The landscape looks so bright 
Or is it those dear glances 

Emitting glorious light, 

Jennie, darling? 

My soul is bathed in light. 



87 



LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION. 

We all have need to breathe the ardent ]Drajer, 

" Lead us not to temptation." All around 
Life's Avay is hedged some gilded, tempting snare. 

And I believe there is some way to sound 
Each human heart, and drag up from its sleep 

Some dormant evil : there is e'er some art 
Which can awake the echoes, loud and deep, 

Of voices Ave deemed buried in the heart, 

And gone to ashes. Let no mortal smile, 
Or think himself secure : in some dark hour 
The tempting fiend may, with his cunning power, 

Elude the heart's firm sentry, and beguile, 
With voice of honeyed sweetness, till the sin 

From which we deemed ourselves the most 
secure, 
Is the first one we blindly enter in ; 

And thus we fall where footing seemed most 
sure. 

Let no one boast — no righteous Pharisee 
Say " I have trampled sin beneath my feet; " 
For not on earth a single heart doth beat 

Exempt from error. L et the tempter call — 
Let the right chord of evil be but found, 
And it will send its echoes back in sound ; 

And the self-boasting be the first to fall. 
!Re humble, then, O canting hypocrite, 

Tiring the air with long, lip-rooted prayers, 



Saying, '' I am very holy ; lot mc sit 

Beneath thj^ smile, good Lord of earth and air; 

I never yet have fallen in the snare : 
For the abodes of angels I am fit." 
O puny atom ! weak and helpless speck 

Of the great universe ! thy boasted power, 
In hours of trial, fails ; thou art a wreck, 
Drifting upon the waves ; a weed, a floAver, 
Torn by the winds, dashed by the billows might; 

Slave of its fury ! Pray thou, then, to heaven, 
With earnest heart, at morn, and noon, and night. 

That strength to tread life's weary way be 
given ; 
Lest that thy puny hands may loose their hold, 

And down the rocks, to death, thy feet may slide; 
Lest the fiend charm, and thy birthright be sold, 

The bribe be taken. Do not boast till tried 
By every charm, and voice, and every art. 

Thought can conceive to win away thy heart. 



DALEEIA'S TEMPTATION. 

" One little blow and it will all be o'er. 
Then shall the heavy bitterness of life 
Fall, as the pilgrim's bundle at the sight 
Of the pearl gates around the land of rest. 
Then shall I cease to hear the secret sob. 
The stifled moanings, daily rising up 
To the white throne of pity. Fate hath dealt 



89 

But hardly with me, and my woof of life 
Is formed of shreds of darkness, with a line 
Of golden lustre shining here and there. 
Oh, day by day, I hear a heart-string break ; 
And the faint beating at the throne of life 
Grows softer, as the plash of waters when 
A bird's wing hath but fann'd them. I would 
Loose the silvery bands and be at rest. 

Oh Thou, whose name is Love, who mad'st all 

hearts, — 
Some as the mountain eagle's soaring still 
Through storms and tempests, and the beating rain, 
To the bright sunshine, far above the clouds, — 
Did'st make mine own e'en as the woodland dove 
That hides the arrow 'neath its shining wings, 
And, in the glen's deep heart, sinks down to die, 
Alone. O wilt not Thou forgive the poor, 
Weak wanderer, that, trembling, asks from Thee 
The wide arms of protection ? — Thou whose feet 
Left their meek impress on the shores of earth, 
Whose home was with the lovrly, who didst cast 
Aside the sparkling diadem of power 
For the sharp thorn-crown and the manger bed ; 
Oh, wilt not Thou forgive, if, weak and faint, 
I come, unsummoned, and bow down beside 
The snowy gates of mercy ? let me come. 
For earth is pitiless, and cold, and drear. 

Thus spake Dalerta, one fair summer's night. 
When sunset's ki^^s was on the cherry lips 

8 



90 

Of smiling June, and a crowd of stars 

Gleamed on her sunny tresses ; when young May 

Seemed glancing backward through the half shut 

gates, 
Of the ripe seasons. — From old Nature's breast 
Welled up full notes of music ; but they found 
No harp string yet unbroken in the heart 
Of fair Daleria. Oh, are the wings 
Of every guardian angel folded up, 
That they may leave no droj:) of love, or hope, 
In their soft wavings, on her snowy brow ? 
Have heaven and earth forsaken ? Is there no 
Invisible hand wherein her own may rest 
For one brief moment, till it lead her back 
From the dark waters ? 

Now her fair lips move, 
And let us listen to the words they sj^eak. 
" 'Tis o'er, 'tis o'er, and I am strong again. 
The tempter hath no power ; my heart is rock — 
I could walk on, o'er deserts and wide plains 
Of burning heat, and faint or falter not. 
Yes, e'en this weight of gloom, that nigh liath 

pressed 
My erring feet to ruin, is a shield 
With which to win the victor}^ ; and now 
I would not loose the slightest tie that binds 
The burden of my grief. I glorify 
The trial, till it seems the furnace hot 
Wherein my heart's pure gold wa's purified. 
Yes, yes, I feel so strong, that, were the love 
I wouhl liMve died fur, now all. all iha' own. 



91 

I could tear every clasping from ray soul, 
And cast it, with no sigh, or tear, into 
Oblivion's waters deep. Ah yes, methinks 
The wrestler with the heart, the weary one, 
Who fights fierce battles with the giant will, 
And comes off victor, wins a glory-crown, 
Starr'd with more jewels than the spirit does 
That ne'er hath felt temptation — as the oak 
Gathers new strength and root with tempests, till 
It sways not with the storm. 

" Oh, earth is fair ! 
The blue sky hath its stars, the fiiir earth, flowers, 
The waters, pearls, the forest, sweetest birds, 
The clouds, rich treasures of the tinkling rain, 
The day its sunshine, and the night its moon, 
The humblest bud, a dewdrop, or a heart 
Brimful of odors. If no nook nor spot, — 
Xo object of dear Nature is bereft 
Wholly of beauty, sure the human heart, 
The mightiest of them all, can not be left 
Without a flower, or star, or gem, or bird. 
To keep it vital. Xo, ah no, it has 
Ten thousand blessings left ; and I will tear 
From my dim eyes the mantle full of dust, 
And go, untrembling, through the change that 

lies 
Between me and the path that slopes away 
oward the high city of eternal peace. 



92 



THE COQUETTE'S CONFESSION. 

Come, sit beside me, cousin Bell ; my gems, oh 

take them all ; 
Unhand my locks, and once more let their dark 

lengths freely fall. 
The noon of night hath long gone by ; soon rosy 

tints will creep 
Along the brightening orient; but oh ! I can not 

sleep. 

I am so weary. How I loathed the bustle and 

the glare ! 
The joy, the music of to-night, how hard it was 

to bear ! 
You look upon me strangely. Bell. I know my 

words were gay ; 
But oh ! I thought the weary hours would never 

pass away. 

Mine eyes were bright, my cheek was flush'd, my 
step like some gazelle. 

My lips were parted with soft smiles ; I know it, 
cousin Bell. 

This gilded mask I've worn so long, of cold, deceit- 
ful pride. 

Has well misled the heartless world — for you, 'tis 
put aside. 



93 

I know that I am beautiful, and this hath been my 

bane ; 
The world hath poison'd my young heart, 'twill 

ne'er be pure again. 
They say I am a cold coquette, and that my heart 

is steel ; 
I half believe their words myself — oh ! misery, so 
• to feel. 

I know I've trifled with true hearts — it was a 
fearful game ; 

I planted thorns instead of flowers, and I shall 
reap the same. 

One told me once, with scornful lip and proudly 
flashing eye, 

That deep remorse should sting ni}' soul like scor- 
pions, by and by. 

AYhy did I leave my cabin home ? 1 was so happy 

then ; 
So innocent and full of joy I ne'er can be again. 
Ah! chide me not, dear cousin Bell, I have no 

friend like thee ; 
But humble rustic as I was, 'twere better so 

to be. 

O cousin Bell ! that r-abin home, my mother's old 

arm chair, 
My kind old father's silver'd locks, my sister's 

golden hair, 



94 

My dark eyed brother, whose sweet voice my heart 

doth so recall ; 
How often in my dreams I seem again to see them 

all; 

Ah ! I shall be no more a child, beneath the old 
roof tree ; 

No more can home, and all its scenes, be as they 
used to be. 

I kiss my sister's soft blue eyes to slumber swcot 
no more, 

And stand by my dear brother's side in onv low- 
cabin door. 

And never more my heart can thrill to nui.sic hulf 

so gay, 
As when, with berries round my hat. 1 raked the 

new -mown hay, — 
As when a careless bare-foot girl I walked beside 



the wain 
)ore the ^ 
of ripened grain. 



That bore the golden harvest home — the shea is 



As when I saw the sickle gleam, and from our 

deep old well 
Drew water for the harvest hands ; nay, smile not, 

cousin Bell ; 
One loved my very footfalls then — such love is 

more than bliss ; 
Take all that's precious in the world, but (^nly 

leave me this ! 



05 

You say my song was sweet, to-night, as some half 

mournful bird — 
There was a pathos in my voice you ne'er before 

had heard ; 
And that in my dark eyes there dwelt a strangely 

wilder ing spell, 
Unlike the flash of careless pride. I know it, 
• cousin Bell. 

Draw nearer, I will tell 3'ou all. The east is grow- 
ing bright 

And brief must be my whispered words — 1 saw, 
saw HIM to-night. 

I thought that years had done their work, but I 
misjudged my pride ; 

Alas ! I love him. cousin Bell, as none on earth 
beside. 

Long, long I looked upon his face, — he knew not 
that 'twas so, — 

How throbbed my heart as erst it throbbed, long- 
weary 3^ears ago ! 

1 met his glance — a careless glance, no lingering 
love was there ; 

Indifference, alas ! alas ! is worse than hate to bear ! 

The hazel eyes, whose dreamy depths were full of 

love untold ; 
The jetty locks, the crimson lip that smiled for 

mu of old ; 



96 

The princely step so free and firm, the tones of 

music light, 
Bind my poor heart in fetters now. Why did I 

go to-night? 

He loves me not — no soft note thrills to tell him 

of those hours 
When 'neath the elm tree on the hill he twined 

my hair with flowers. 
He cared not for my nut-brown cheek, or for my 

rustic dress : 
He read my love within my eyes, — 'twas all he 

cared to guess. 

He loves me not ! I know it well ; and oh ! he 

little deems 
That he is ever by my side, in daylight and in 

dreams. 
He loved me when a rustic maid T tossed the 

scented hay : 
He thinks those early memories have long since 

passed away. 

O ! give me pity, cousin Bell ; you ne'er have loved 

in vain ; 
You know not how it tears the heart, the clasp of 

such a chain. 
You know not what a task it is to smile, and 

dance, and sing, 
While ever}^ heart-beat feels a lliorn. 3'et dares not 

tell their sting. 



97 

I wish I'd staid in my poor home, away out in the 

glen ; 
'Twere better they had made my grave beneath 

the elm tree then. 
For then nis tears had nurs'd the flowers that 

blossom'd o'er my clay ; 
Such love were worth the pangs of death. Sweet 

cousin, it is dav ! 



THE BEGGAR GIEL. 

Coldly blew the iSrovem1)cr rain. 
Pattering on the window^ pane ; 
Ceasing, then rising, in rage, again, 

Drearily, ah ! how drearily. 
All alone in, the city street, 
With scanty robe and shoeless feet, 
Upon a door-step had taken a scat 

A little girl, ah ! wearily. 

All day long she had asked for bread. 

All day she had remained unfed. 

Till her heart was sick — for cold and dead 

Was the selfish w^orld to charity. 
Crowds of the rich had passed her by 
Turning in scorn from her asking eye — 
On, on, in their pomp, with no answering sigh, 

For sympathy is a rarity. 
9 



98 

Some bad looked on her lovely face. 
Where gentle beauty had left a trace, 
On the noble bearing and air of grace, 

Of her slight form — moulded slenderly; 
And whispered: "ah! lovely, indeed, is she; 
Alas ! that an outcast she must be, 
Cast on the bleak world's charity ; 

Cherished, she should be, tenderly." 

Others, in tones of withering scorn. 
Spoke to the orphan child forlorn, 
Thinking not how their words had torn 

The heart that beat so mournfully. 
And beauty went by with elastic tread. 
With a heart encased in pride, and dead 
To the cries of woe — though sweet and red 

Was the fair lip curling scornfully. 

Night came on over land and sky ; 
Worn Avith fatigue and fain to die 
Sat the beggar girl, with closed eye, 

With hunger and sorrow perishing. 
Her bright curls swept in clustering bands 
Over her white and clasped hands — 
Forsaken on earth, but angel bands 

Were the gentle outcast cherishing. 

One by one, with flickering ray, 
Slowly the pale stars faded away ; 
Time ushered in another long day 

Of sorrow, and wrong, and misery, 



To many an eye that fain would sleep 

Under the quiet clod so deep, 

Yet waked with the light of day to weep, 

Till the brain and heart throbbed dizzily. 

On the steps reclined the beggar girl. 
Her lips were cold yet they sweetly smiled ; 
No more can she be by the world reviled, 

Dependent upon its charity; 
For an angel hand hath hushed her fears, 
Sealed the dark ' river of her years,' 
Hath taken her where no suffering tears 

Ere sully the heavenly purity. 



A BALLAD. 

He came to that neglected home 

One quiet summer day : 
<'0h, I have borne a weary heart 

The while I was away. 

" Her love has ever haunted me, 
Through distance far and wide, — 

Oh lead me, sister of her heart. 
Oh lead me to her side." 

That sister took his hand, she led 
Him down the grassy vale ; 

Her eyes were misty with their tears, 
Her cheeks were very pale. 



100 

She led him on, but not a word 

Of joy or grief she said — 
Her thoughts swept silent as a rill 

Along a grassy mead. 

There was a clump of aspen trees 

Within a quiet dell ; 
He used to sit beneath their shade, 

With one who loved him well. 

" Oh, docs she wait me here," he said, 
"As in those blessed hours?" — 

His feet were close against a grave, 
Half covered o'er with flowers. 

No"w, for the first time, did she speak, 

That sister of her breast : 
*' Oh^ may your heart like aspen leaves 

Have not a moinent's rcst.^^ 

She turned away, as the last word 

Fell sadly from her tongue ; 
He started from the fearful spot 
As if an adder stun^. 



•&' 



And dimly in the misty air, 
A form he seemed to see : 

"It was a cold bed, dearest love, 
The one you made for me. 



101 

"My pillow is so damp and hard, 

The sod so dark and cold, 
And o'er my muslin shroud there lies 

The blackness of the mold. 

" My locks are straightened as with dew, 
My cheeks are thin and white; 

The summer day may charm the earth. 
To me 'tis ever night. 

" The waving grass, the starry flowers, 

My dim eyes can not see ; 
It is a dreary bed, my love, 

The one you made for me." 

Fainter and fainter in the air, 

Became that form of light; 
The pale lips and the straightened hair 

Passed slowly out of sight. 

Weaker and weaker grew his pulse, 

AYith deadly, deadly fear, 
Until the throbbing of his heart 

Within, he ceased to hear. 

AVith staring eyes and marble face. 

And form so stiff and cold. 
They found him when the morning came, 

Low sleeping on the mold. 



102 



THE BETTER LAND. 

♦•For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to 
come." — Ileb. xv., 14. 

No city here, no constant habitation, 

Wherein to lay our throbbing hearts and fears : 
No city here, where sorrow and vexation 

Can enter not, and bring their weight of cares; 
No home of rest, where change can enter never; 

No homo, which time can crumble not away ; 
No love-wrought ties, that death can fail to sever; 

No spot, where darkness follows not tlie day. 

TVe trust in friendship — like the tossing ocean, 

The waves of time can soon deface the sj)ell : 
We trust in love — a word, a look, or motion, 

Can bear away the dreams we love so well : 
We trust in fame, and find it but a bubble. 

Whose tints, when grasj^ed, fade silently away: 
We trust in wealth, — 'tis on a sea of trouble, 

It taketh wings and flieth in a day. 

We have no home, no region free from sorrow; 

Poor houseless wanderers in a desert drear, 
No j)lace to call our own, no sweet to-morrow, 

Where pleasure comes unsullied by a tear. 
No home? no home? On drooping pinion weary, 

Like the lone dove that wandered from the ark, 
Must we roam on, still sad, unblessed, and dreary, 

Without a hope, a day-beam in the dark ? 



Ah no! ah no! from heaven's own broad expan- 
sion 

A spirit whispers, through the shadowy blue, 
" The Father has full many a spacious mansion." 

There is a home, a happy home for you, — 
A home where death and time can never enter, 

It stands uncrumbled by the flight of years, 
A stream of bliss is glittering in its center. 

'Tis God's own city, unalloyed by tears. 

There, in that home, no throb of deep dejection 

Can check the gladness of the joyful heart ; 
But sweetly bound in God's own true affection 

Nothing can rend those clinging ties aj^art. 
We have no home on earth, but sadly driven 

Adown time's stream, where sorrow leaves a 
trace. 
Hope on, sad soul, there is a home in Heaven — 

A constant, firm and sure abiding place. * 

Let us not mourn, though life may bring us 
sorrow ; 

Soon can w^e cast aside the cumbrous el a}'. 
•We have a hope, a glorious hojjc to-morrow ; 

A home in heaven, a home of constant day. 
We have no home on earth ; then let us sever 

Our thoughts from earth, and its alluring love, 
And list the angel's voice that whispereth, ever, 

" There is a home of constancy above." 



104 



TO . 

Blessings be with thee, while we part — 

Each bliss that thought to words may frame ; 

There 's not a pulse that rocks my heart 
To prayer, that doth not breathe thy name. 

Beloved ! such perfect love as this 

Fills to the brim life's cup with bliss. 

Go, dear one : must 1 let tliee i^o ? 

Yet 'tis with sweet and earnest faith ; 
AVhatever comes, I feel, I know, 

Thy heart will still be true to death. 
And not a shadow o'er me steals ; 
No jealous doubt my soul conceals. 

Farewell : my life can never be 

J)arkened and sorrowed, while I know 

That in the same, same world with me 
Is one to whom my heart may go; 

And on thy fond and faithful breast 

May weep that aching heart to rest. 



SHE NEYEE LOVED IIIM. 

She never loved him : all her grief dissembling — 
AYearing a gilded mask of scorn and pride, 

With bright flushed cheek, and white lips softly 
trembling, 
She took the vows that bound her as his bride ; 



1U5 

And when, at last, the marriage hour was over, 
Calmly the joyful greetings she received ; 

No eye so skilled her anguish to discover, 
Deceiving others, not herself deceived. 

She never loved him : j^et his heart had given 

Its deepest, passionate, fervent love to her, — 
Ill-freighted barque upon the breakers driven, 

Affection's waves his love could never stir. 
Her sweet, young face so gloriously beaming 

With beauty's sunlight, radiant and still. 
To him was fairer than an angel's dreaming — 

One glance, one smile, made all his heart- 
strings thrill. 

She never loved him : none could mark her pining; 

"When mingling oft with pleasure's joyous 
throng. 
Gems on her dark brown locks like star-beams 
shining. 

Her heart seemed one unceasing fount of song 
But, oh ! those songs, they had an under-toning, 

Inaudible to every listening ear ; 
'Twas like the sea-shell's ever-constant moaning. 

Crying for something dear, alas! too dear. 

She never loved him: all unskilled in reading, 
Little he kncAV his young bride's secret heart ; 

Little he knew^ its throbbing and its bleeding, 
ISTursing a love that never could depart. 

She kept the tears that from her eyes upstarted, 



lOG 

Guarded from his keen eagle glance too well. 
Oh ! had he known that she was broken-hearted, 
No words his bitter agony might tell. 

Often, at night, when holy stars were beaming, 

Alone she sat within her costly room, 
Feeding her lieart with vain and fevered dreaming. 

Adjuring ghosts of Memory from their tomb ; 
In the green valley, by the moaning river, 

Beside her dark-eyed love alone she stands. 
Hearing the lovo-words, sweetest, sweetest ever 

To throbbing hearts and closely clasped hands. 

From honeyed lips fall kisses like a blessing ; 

How eloquent each throb of that warm heart ! 
All, all a dream «-- the time, the sweet caressing; 

But 'tis a dream that never can depart. 

Oh, haunted heart ! oh, life bereft and lonely ! 

Fair jewel cast on sorrow's blackest wave ! 
For thee there is no rest, no gladness, only, 

Beneath the grasses of the lonesome grave. 
Oh bitter sin ! when thus a heart is bartered 

For shining jewels and bright gleaming gold ; 
Bitter deception, when a life is martyred, 

And love and hope thus idly bought and sold ! 



107 



AN AUTUMNAL SONG. 

The frost has fallen like a blight, 

And the leaves are trembling down — 
And some are tinged with golden light, 
And some are crimson and brown ; 
While the meek-eyed flowers have gone to rest 

Like little children at night ; 
But they wake not, covered with smiles again, 

When the distant east grows bright. 
Oh, the meek-eyed flowers ! the meek-eyed flowers ! 
What beautiful gifts to us are given 
To charm our weary hours ! 

The birds are singing amid the trees, 
Eut their notes seem sad and low ; 
And the grasshopper chirps in the waving grass 

Memories of long ago. 
The south wind sighs, for he misses now 
The hand of the summer so sweet, 

That scattered roses along his path, 
And dew-drops at his feet. 
Oh, the soft south breeze ! the soft south breeze ! 
How it thrills my heart as it sighs along, 
And whispers among the trees. 

'Tis the Autumn time, that sad s weet time. 
And there cometh now to me, 
My friend, 'mid the leaves and fading flowers, 
■Sweet memories of thee ; 



108 

Of the good old times, the good old times, 

In the sunny morn of life, 
Of the hap2)y hours, when like the flowers, 

Our hearts with odors were rife. 
Oh, the good old times ! the good old times ! 
My fond heart singeth of them, to-night, 

In strange melodious rhymes. 

I see our home, our early home, 

On the gently sloj)ing hill ; 
And the winding stream that swept along 

'Mid the willows, soft and still ; 
And the orchard, too, w^ith its golden store; 
And the walnut in the lane. 
With the grape-vine clinging around its limbs 

I see them all again. 
Oh, the orchard sweet! the orchard sweet! 
How oft we found on its short soft grass 
A rest for our Aveary feet ! 

I will twine a wreath of faded flowers, 

I will twine a wreath for thee. 
As emblem of our childhood hojies. 

That faded so silently ; 
I will think of thee, long cherished one. 

In these mild Autumnal eves ; 
I will call thy image before me now, 

'Mid the fading flowers and leaves. 
Oh, the faded flowers ! the withered flowers ! 
They tell to me how the bright hopes died. 

That sprang in our childhood hours. 



109 



BOW TO NONE BUT GOD. 

Turn thy face to the sunshine ! 

Let nothing- cast thee down, 
While Truth upon thy forehead 

Eests blazing like a crown. 
Look up ! nor fear nor falter, 

Tho' a monarch press the sod — 
Soar upward like an eagle, 

And bow to none but God ! 

Cringe not to Wealth's proud children, 

Though robed in garments fine — 
Give not an inch ! the pathway 

Is theirs not more than thine ; 
Let thy stern eye confront them, 

Bearer of hoe or hod, 
Onward and upward, ever 

Bow thou to none but God ! 

Look up ! be brave and steadfast, 

Press onward to thy goal ; 
Art thou not the possessor 

Of an immortal soul? 
Soul bought by throes of anguish, 

In the garden where He trod 
Soul, costly as a monarch's: 

Bow thou to none but God ! 



110 

Shall thy cheek flush with crimson 

Before the world-called great? 
Wilt thou fawn meekly, humblj' 

To that thy heart must hate ? 
-Wilt thou bow to the oppressor 

With courtly beck and nod? 
No ! stand like some strong mountain, 

And bow to none but God ! 



Onward ! let slander's arrow's 

Pass by in silent scorn ; 
Let malice die in darkness, 

It was in darkness born ; 
Let Falsehood perish w-rithing 

'Neath Truth's unsparing rod, 
She is the best avenger : 

Bow thou to none but God ! 

Onward ! and plant thy harvest, 

Whate'er the world may say; 
No serpent's hiss beguile thee 

A moment from thy way. 
If the way be very humble 

O'er which thy feet have trod. 
Go on, with soul unbending. 

And bow to none but God ! 

No, never ! while thy bosom 
Has a heart-throb within, 

Let thy free tongue be silent 
When the rich and mighty sin. 



HI 

Look up ! nor fear nor fiilLer, 

Though a monarch press the sod ; 

He is but man, weak, erring: 
Bow thou to none but God ! 



JANUARY 1st, 1855. 

O STERN, remorseless Time ! 
Another year is added to thy reign ; 
Another year hath gone to that far clime 

From whence none come again. 

A year, whose morning bright 
"Was ushered in by many happy throngs, 
With feast and dance, and friendship's golden light, 

And mirth, and jest, and songs. 

Gone ! as the ebb and flow 
Of the dark ocean's fair sapphirian tide. 
Gone ! as the gloaming's variegated glow 

When the June day hath died. 

Yet go ! no tears for thee, 
O year of darkness ; where thy steps have been, 
Ridges of new made graves, on land and sea, 

The dead have gathered in. 



ll:i 

Ui^on thy summer sky 
There came no cloud of sweet, refreshijig' I'jiin ; 
The thirsty leaves looked upward witii a sigh ; 

But all in vain, in vain. 

The sweetly singing rill 
In shadowy nooks had pined itself away, 
And every bird and bee lay sad and still 

Through the long, dusty day. 

And when the storm-clouds came. 
They came in fury; in their barren path 
Were blight and ruin; worse than lightning's 
flame 

The record of their wrath. 

In the West Indian isles, 
Where brightest birds fly forth on rainbow wings; 
Where, mid the orange and the myrtle's smiles, 

The golden oriole swings ; — 

There, in the odorous hours. 
The pestilence stalked forth with awful tread, 
And, as a sickle mid the harvest flowers. 

Left a full path of dead. 

Surely, for thee, O year 
Of storm, and fire, and shipwreck, and of woe, — 
Dread bearer of death's hour-glass, and his spear — 

For thee no tear should flow, 



On the red field of war 
Thousands have fallen for their country's sake 
Youth, beaut}^, strength, all vanished as a star, 

"Where the brio^ht dawn doth break. 



'&' 



That blood shall yet have power 
To call to heaven for justice from each nook ; 
And thrones shall tremble, in some future hour, 

As if the whole earth shook. 

And despots shall be found 
Trembling in sight of all their proud domains; 
For freedom's spirit never can be bound. 

Though all the trees w^erc chains. 

And never, never more 
The Bible can be sealed. In olden day 
They tried to guard the sei^ulcher's dark door: 

The stone was rolled away. 

And God will yet be heard 
In every nook, and hamlet, tower, and hall ; 
The power and blessings of his Holy Word 

On freedom's ear shall fall. 

And chains shall tumble down 
From the tired limbs, w^iere lono* their weio-ht 

hath pressed ; 
On thorn -torn brows shall fall a healing crown, 
And weary arms shall rest. 
10 



114 

O dark, departed year, 
From, out thy heap of spoils we look, in hope, 
To see if yet the beauteous star appear 

In time's vast horoscope. 

Yet 'twas a wise decree, 
That in thy hand was put the avenging rod; 
For, in the hour of full prosperity. 

We were forgetting God. 

Yes, by the weight of sin 
That brooded o'er our country, far and wide ; 
By countless homes, where evil entered in 

By the red lips of pride ; 

By the vain pomp and show, 
The purple, and fine linen, and the gold ; 
By the shut ear to worse than Lazarus' woe, 

Our hearts were growing cold ; 

By the defiant sneer, 
Neglected Bible, vacant house of prayer, 
As Jews we plunged, with reckless hand, the 
spear 

In His side deeper there ; 

By the vain love of gold — 
The shielding of the guilty, if he wore 
O'er his black heart the costly raiment's fold. 

To hide the murderer's ffore : 



115 

^y the arch tempter's sin — 
The Licensed Fiend, who steals his brother's 

soul ; 
Lures, by his scales, the weak and erring in 

To his accursed goal ; 

Who darkens houies with gloom 
Darker than midnight storms, and drags the pure, 
The good, the true, to sorrow's lonely tomb, 

"With slow, slow grief, but sure ; — 

By all the tongues that cry, 
Asking for justice ; — they shall yet be heard ; 
Still will come answers from the flir-off sky. 

As if the heavens were stirred. 

Still the avenging rod. 
By mercy tempered, shall afflict us all ; 
Until the proud, that standeth daring God, 

"Take heed lest he shall fall." 

Still the wild waves of fire 
Shall burn, and burn, until the gold is pure ; 
Till error, with a last, long cry, expire : 

But right shall e'er endure. 

Welcome, thou glad ^N'ew Year; 
We bid thee hail, while on thy fair young brow 
Thou bearest the crown of twelve months half 
with fear — 

We bid thee welcome now. 



116 

May we, with hearts as strong, 
And arms as sure as steel, keep battling on, 
Until the last, unblushing host of wrong 

To its dark grave hath gone. 

May we be true to self, 
True to our God, true to our native land ; 
Nor, for the praise of men, nor pelf, nor love. 

Bow to the traitor's brand. 

Labor, in hope and strength. 
Till those whose necks have bent beneath tlie 

yoke. 
Shall cry, — with one deliverance cry at length, — 

" How FAIR THE MORNING BROKE." 



DKEAMING IN THE TWILIGHT. 

Dreaming in the twilight's 
^ Soft and golden glow — 
Going sadly backward, 

Where I used to go. 
Thinking of the homestead, 

With its roof of brown, 
Where the rains of summer 

Silently came down ; 
Thinking of the robin 

Fashioning her nest, 



117 

In the little window 

Looking to the west; 
Thinking of the forest, 

Where I used to dream ; 
Listening to the lily -bells, 

Ringing by the stream ; 
Thinking of the lambkins, 

"White as drifted snow ; 
Going sadly backward. 

Where I used to go. 

Dreaming, sadly dreaming, 

In the hush of day, 
Why the years, like billows, 

Sweep our joys away. 
On the mossy homestead 

Falls the gentle rain, 
I can never listen 

To it, there, again. 
Long ago the robin 

Ceased to build her nest 
In the sunny window. 

Looking to the west. 
Long ago the lilies 

Died beside the stream; 
I can never wander 

There, again, to dream. 
Other lambs, with fleeces 

White and soft as snow, 
Skip among the daisies. 

Where I used to go. 



118 

Not for homestead, slowly 

Crumbling in decay; 
Not for birds and flowers. 

That have passed away ; 
Not for all these changes, 

Throbs my heart with woe, 
As I go, in fancy, 

Where I used to go. 
But I weep, while sadly 

Dreaming here, alone, 
For a hand that softly 

Slid from out m}' own. 
For a little hillock, 

Grassy, now, with years, 
Scooped along my pathway, 

Do I give my tears. 
If my friend were with me, 

I would never know, 
Or grieve for all the changes. 

Where I used to go. 



TO TOO. 



Go! bird of thought! on snowy wing 
Seek those belov'd ones far away. 
Go, bird of thought! and fondly sing, 
Till the soul's atmosphere shall ring 
To thosl' c-harm'd poet hearts to-day. 



119 

Perchance, this hour they keep their tryst 
Of soul communion pure and true. 
May peace be o'er them as a mist 
The bright May morning sun hath kissed, 
Or cloud of radiant iris hue. 

Gro ! bird of thought, and sing of me 
A gentle and bewildering strain — 
A gush of silvery melody 
Whose echoes sweet shall long remain. 

Oh ! tell them how I pine to hear 
Those dear twin-voices that so long 
Have poured upon my list'ning ear, 
Like fountain gushes soft and clear, 
The rapture-moving tide of song. 

Go ! bird of thought, the soul's sweet things 
Uttered by their lips, bring to me, 
As harps bring music on their strings, 
As bees bring honey on their wings, 
When summer's twilight veils the lea. 

And in my heart I'll fondly keep 

My jewels with a jealous care ; 

As in the ocean's caverns deep 

Eare gems of rainbow brightness sleep. 

Shining through folds of darkness there. 



120 

Come, bird of Hope ! and wliis2)er low, 
That, in another, fairer clime, 
Whose brightness earth eyes can not know, 
Our kindred souls on j)lumes of snow. 
Shall rest, nor count the flight of time. 

Come, bird of Hope ! thy witching strain 

Can charm away my rising tears; 

Oh ! tell me that the three-linked chain 

Shall be re-bound and shine again 

In heaven, through love's eternal years. 



A DREAM OF THE SUMMER TIME. 

All ni2:ht have I heard the low sobbinij^ 

And falling of the rain ; 
All night the monotonous falling 

Of drops on the pane. 

All night from the folds of the tempest 
Have heard the winds start ; 

But all night a joy-speaking angel 
Has been in my heart. 

Oh ! thanks for the manifold blessings 

That come w^ith the rain — 
How all the parched sun-lighted valleys 

Will brighten .again. 



121 

How many a fragrant bud sleeping 

In tear-gems so bright 
Will open its eyes in the morning, 

Like stars in the night. 

'Tis not for the manifold blessings 

That come with the rain. 
And not for the musical tapping 

Of drops on the pane ; 

Xor the vine that will crimson with blossoms 

About the dark rock ; 
Nor the lambs that will be like the drifting 

Of snow in the flock ; 

l^ov the fields that will tempt the bright sickle 

With russet and gold. 
When morn with a sweet benediction 

The earth shall enfold; — 

That my young heart is filled to the brimming 

With jewels of light. 
That my soul-angel sweetly is singing 

Such vespers to-night. 

All night through the sob and the patter 

Of wind and of rain, 
A heart that but lived for my loving 

Was throbbing again ; 



11 



122 

And cheeks that were dust in the day-time 

Were pink in their bloom ; 
And eyes from their snowy lids softly 

Looked up from the tomb ; 

And locks that the damp of the coffin 

Had slowly uncurled 
AVere bright, and I cease to remember 

A grave in the world. 

All night o'er her silent breast softly 

The Slimmer clouds wept; 
All night the frail breeze from the south-land 

Has cried where she slept. 

All night through the halls of my fancy 

I paced with my love ; 
But now that the amber of morning 

Is glowing above, 

My brow and my heart feel a bleeding 

And throbbing of pain — 
A woe that no ancient neiDenthe 

Can deaden again. 

For Memory's spear has been buried 

So deep in my side, 
That on my sad bosom, this morning, 

It seems that she died. 



123 



NELL. 

I AM sitting alone in sadness, 

I hear the wild ^Yinds sigh, 
Snow wreaths are on the lattice, 

The full moon in the sky ; 
x\nd an undertone is sounding, 

Like the moan of an ocean shell — 
My heart grows sad and sadder, 

AVhile I think of little Nell. 

When the glorious golden sunlight 

Called up the April flowers ; 
When, like a troop of f\xiries. 

Exquisitely passed the hours, — 
Yiolets by the streamlet, 

ButtercujDs in the dell, — 
She was here with her tones of gladness 

Beautiful little Nell. 

When, with the dew-pearls laden, 

Blushed the roses of June, 
Clouds were gold in the morning, 

And silver in the noon. 
By the hoary rock all moss-crown'd, 

Where the sparkling waters fell 
With a low yet witching tinkle, 

Lingered beautiful, sweet Nell. 



124 

When the hand of sober AiUumn 
Threw a blue veil o'er the day, 

From the brow of that child -angel, 

Smooth 'd were all the curls away. 

O'er the heavenly eyes of azure 
The lashes lightly fell, 

And her coral lips ceased smiling — 
Beautiful little Nell. 

Over the sloping shoulders, 

Over the arms of white, 
The folds of the snowy muslin 

Fell silently and light. 
The little hands were clasped 

Like flowers when day beams cease ; 
The dove-like spirit wafted 

Through the golden gates of peace. 

By the hoary, moss-crown'd rock, 

Where the sparkling waters play, 
A little grave was fashioned 

Out of the yellow clay. 
Since then I've heard in dreaming 

The echoiug mold that fell 
Over the peaceful bosom 

Of beautiful little Nell. 



125 



THE mEBEIATE. 

He sat by the lonely window ; 

He heard the pattering rain, 
With a low and musical murmur, 

Fall on the broken pane; 
And his heart went back, in fancy, 

To his boyhood hours again 
Cottage, garden and meadow, 

Forest, flowers, and hill. 
Valley, streamlet and dingle, 

River turning the mill — 
All in a sweet confusion, 

His lonely heart did fill. 

Alas ! the recollection 

Of hours too sweet to stay 

Fell over his heart as the rumble 
Of the heavy, yellow clay 

Falls over a loved one's coffin, 
Whom death hath borne away. 

He hears a sigh beside him, 

One of childhood's gentle sighs, 

And he sees his youngest daughter, 
With loving and tearful eyes : 

" Father," she murmurs softlj^, 
And kindly he replies. 



12G 

" Father, ah ! be not angry, 

I've come to plead to-day. 
Oh ! cast the tempting wine-cuj) 

For evermore away ; 
'Tis luring you to darkness 

For which there is no day." 

" My child, so long in darkness, 
I've groped my weary way, — 

So long I've walked in the shadow, 
I've ceased to think of day. 

But for your sake, gentle pleader, 
I'll try to turn away." 

But alas ! the fiend-like tempter, 
Alas ! for the vice of wrong ; 

It led him again in the shadow, 

With stern hand, cold and strong — 

And again with the crowed he mingled. 
With laughter, jest and song. 

One night, in the gloomy winter. 
He turned from the revel wild ; 

For a voice thrilled through his spirit 
A whisper low and mild — 

It seemed in its gentle cadence 
Like the sweet voice of his child. 

He knew that the hand of sickness 
Was on her fevered cheek ; 



127 

That her head upon the pillow, 

Fell heavily and weak, — 
That she scarce could lift her thin hands, 

That she scarcely now could speak. 

He returned then stepping softly, 

Beside the lonely bed ; 
He pillowed upon his bosom, 

In tenderness her head, — 
With a heart too full for utterance, 

Not a syllable he said. 

But his tears fell fast and glittered. 
Like dew on her golden hair — 

The sweet tears of repentance, 

How blest, thrice blest they were ; — 

For a load was on his spirit. 
Love struggling with desj^air. 

''Father," she whispered, "father, 

I soon must from you go; 
Soon will the gray -haired sexton 

Shovel the crusted snow 
Aside, and my grave be fashioned 

In the churchyard damp and low. 

" But bright-winged angels hover 

Over my head to-day ; 
They will bear me softly, softly, 

Through the clear blue sky away — 



126 

I do not fear the churchyard, 
The coffin and the clay. 

" Yet let me plead, my father, 

Before I pass the door, 
Open alone for the angels, 

When life on earth is o'er : — 
Turn from the sable shadow, 

To the sunlight clear, once more.' 

Her voice ceased here, but pleading 
Still were the beautiful eyes, 

And her trembling lips grew paler, 
And her breathing changed to sighs, 

While her white hands clasped together, 
Sought for the sweet replies. 

They were made — the vow was spoken: 
A smile o'er her features stole, 

The " silver chord was loosened," 
And "broken the golden bowl" — 

From the folds of sin and darkness, 
Was lifted another soul. 



LITTLE LENA GRAY. 

What time to her azure pillow 

Went the sunny day, 
Closed her blue eyes, like a blossom, 

Little Lena Gray; 



129 

In her nest the gentle robin 

Slept beneath the eaves ; 
And the mournful winds were crying 

In the locust leaves. 

Softly, through the open lattice, 

Fell the waning light, 
Crowning all the golden tresses 

On that brow of white ; 
O'er the rose-leaf lips a smiling 

Still in sweetness lay, 
Shadow of an angel's whisper — 

Little Lena Gray. 

Spring is here, and birds are singing, 

All the sunny hours, 
And her little grave is dotted 

With the fairest flowers ; 
But the mother's hand, at even, 

Parts the blooms away, 
Eeading oft upon the headstone — 

Little Lena Gray. 

In the Resurrection morning. 

When the dead arise, 
And the Saviour comes in glory, 

Through the trembling skies. — 
Lamb-like, on his loving bosom. 

Will He bear away 
The dear child who died so early — 

Little Lena Gray. 



130 



FEOST PICTUBES ON THE PANE. 

Like a fail' nun sadly pining, 
Is the quiet young moon shining; 
Something in the light, is lonely ; 
Or, 2^erchance, my own heart only, 
Shuts itself in shadows dreary — 
Sad and wounded, weak and weaiy ; 
For, to-night, dark sorrow traces 
Lines upon my hearts deep places ; 
And to honor fancy's pleading, 
And to stop my heart from bleeding, 
Let me go to her domain. 
Tracing pictures on the pane. 

What is this? A church, Avith larches. 

Ivy, dark, about its arches ? 

Steep roofed, with dark masses dotted. 

Eaves, by time's stern fingers spotted ? 

Night birds in the belfry sleeping. 

Wind-moans, sounding half like weeping, 

And, within, pale sj)irits flitting 

Down the aisles ; in brown pews sitting. 

To the ghostly parson listening, 

In his robe so stiff and glistening ; — ■ 

This doth fancy trace, all plain, 

On the frosty window pane. 

Now I see a forest dismal, 

*' Beetling rock,, and gorge abysmal," 



lai 

Caverns dark, — the bandit's palace, — 
Fierce men drinking from each chalice, 
Knives and swords, with blood-stains glisten, 
As to each low sound they listen ; 
With the light on fair brow beaming, 
Sleeps the chieftain's young bride, dreaming 
Of the home she loved in childhood, 
Of her dark life in the wild wood ; — 
Ah ! I would not see ao'ain 
That sad picture on the pane I 

Fancy, fancy, something brighter. 
Something fairer, something lighter; 
So then trace, in sunny humor. 
Some sweet picture of the summer ; 
Of the winter I am weary — 
Leafless trees, and brown earth dreary. 
Pencil something to enchant me, 
Something bright, that will not haunt me; 
Something like a harp's low trilling. 
That may set the heart to thrilling. 
Paint me, ere I look again. 
On the frosty window i3ane. 

All my inner soul grows tender , 
Oh, what glory, and what splendor; — 
Do I see the golden portal? 
Do I view the sweet immortal ? 
Glimpses of the fair evangels, 
Shining seraphs, blessed angels, 



132 

Light wings, like the pure snow gleaming, 
Gem-like haloes o'er them beaming. 
Fancy, take away the glory ; 
Dark, dark earth is yet before me ; 
To that earth I look again. 
From the frost-work on the pane. 

Comes there light through every sorrow, 
Shining faintly on the morrow; 
When I cross the narrow river. 
When earth's last tie snaps forever. 
Then, Oh then, the glorious real, 
Will outshine the rare ideal ; 
Never, never yet the mortal 
Gazed beyond the pearly portal. 
If the shadow, faintl}' beaming. 
Is so beautiful in dreaming, 
Who shall j)aint the bright domain. 
From the tracery on the pane. 



BIEDS. 

SiNGmG in the vallies. 

Where the w^aters flow ; 
Singing in the quiet dells. 

Where the lilies grow; 
Singing on the uplands. 

Through the summer's day. 
On the emerald hill-side, 

Where the lambkins play. 



133 

Dear birdies, dear birdies, 

I will learn from you 
How to frame my pleasant thoughts 

Into singing too. 

Springs the lark at morning 

To the azure sky ; 
Gentle wings, the robin, 

Softly lifts on high; 
Starts the ground-bird, trilling, 

From her grassy nest ; 
And the happy thrushes 

Warble with the rest. 
Dear birdies, dear birdies, 

I will learn from you 
How to mount, on thankful wings, 

Up to heaven too. 

Building, in the wild -brier. 

Tiny nests so sly. 
In the quiet woodland, 

Where the shadows lie, 
' Neath the grassy covert, 

'l^eath the fragrant leaves, 
By the weaving river. 

Underneath the eaves. 
Dear birdies, dear birdies, 

I must learn from you. 
That to make a happy home, 

I must labor too. 



134 

Drinking, from the lily-urn, 

Drops of sparkling dew ; 
Laving in the quiet lake, 

Flashing up so blue ; 
Flvinf( throuo-h the summer's rain, 

With a merry wing. 
Surely such a pleasant bath 

Is a blessM thing. 
Dear birdies, dear birdies, 

I will learn from you, 
That the sparkling water-fount 

Is a blessing too. 

Pretty little warblers ! 

Joyous-hearted throng ! 
Through the storm's dark pauses, 

I have heard your song. 
Be the days of tempest, 

Still your songs ye pour ; 
And when the storms arc over. 

Then you sing the more. 
Dear birdies, dear birdies, 

I will learn from you. 
How to pass the gloomy hours. 

AVith a carol too. 



35 



THE DOWEKY. 

Poor ! darling, why I have a do^very 

No empress could buy; 
Though her gems were like the sands on the 
sea-shore, 

Or stars in the sky. 

My heart thrills with rajDture to name it, 

A rapture divine ; 
Oh ! it is not the price of a death-bed, 

This dowery of mine. 

What is it? Well, love, sit beside me, 

Look on me and smile. 
What is it ? Be patient, I'll tell thee ; 

Yes, after a Avhile. 

It is not a gem from the ocean. 

Of delicate hue, 
Or diamond whose sparkle of brightness 

Out-shineth the dew ; 

Nor gold proven fine by the furnace. 

All yellow and bright ; 
Nor silver like yonder lake gilded 

By moonbeams to-night ; 

Nor houses, nor wide-spreading acres j 
Nor ships on the sea ; 



136 

No, dearest, but I have a doweiy 
More precious to me. 

What is it? Be patient, I'll tell thee, 

Fair wife of my heart — 
Words sweeter than waters of Hybla, 

That softly upstart. 

Here 'neath the dark wings of the shadow 

Of our cottage eaves, 
I'll tell thee as I hear the waves ripple, 

And music of leaves. 

I look with mine eyes over-brimming 

With glad tears above. 
Feeling thanks for this most precious dowery 

It is thy true love ! 



BIED ON THE GNAELED OLD CHEEKY. 

Bird on the gnarled old cherry. 

Cease, cease thy thrilling song ! 
It hath opened a heart-door dusty. 

That had been shut so long! 
It hath set my heart to thrilling, 

As the sea thrills to the moon : 
Bird on the gnarled old cherry, 

Cease, cease thy thrilling tune ! 



137 

It hath borne me to the morning 

Of life's delicious spring, 
When the heart had no shadj corner, 

And life was a gladsome thing — 
Away to a golden twilight, 

In the eve of a long dead June, 
When far in the west like a sickle, 

Trembled the dear young moon. 

But what of that golden twilight ? 
And what of that month so bright? 

I rocked in the gnarled old cherry, 
An innocent child, that night : 

There were green leaves playing o'er me, 
And ripe fruit on each bough, 

And I set my thoughts to music. 
That is but a memory now. 

There were white clouds slowly sailing- 
Over the deep, deep blue; 

There were stars that seemed like blossoms 
Glittering with the dew ; 

There Avere notes far sweeter, purer 
Than the breathings of a lute, 

Till the very heart in my bosom. 
To listen awhile, was mute. 

Slowly away in her beauty. 

The young moon passed from sight, 

Like a pure nun faintly blushing, 
To the cloister of the night : 
12 



138 

And then to my wondering vision. 

Came white wing'd angels seven, 
Gathering the stars, like lilies, 

To twine in the bowers of heaven. 

Then my heart throbbed loudly, wildly, 

And my eyes were dim with tears. 
For I glanced with the e^'e of a proi:)het 

Through the door of future years : 
There were graves scooped in my pathway, 

And dead buds falling apart ; 
I noted the sad, gloomy picture, 

And hid it away in my heart. 

Bird on the gnarled old cherry, 

I sang once glad as thou, 
But the notes of my early music 

Are nearly a torture now ! 
And oft as I sit in the twilight, 

When the young moon comes in sight, 
3iy heart goes back like a pilgrim 

To the glow of that dead June night; 

And I listen in vain for the music 

That made my heart-strings thrill, 
Like Eve by the grave of her children, 

Thinking of Eden still ; 
Striving to pray that my errors 

May be once more forgiven ; 
That I with a child's clear vision, 

^Vlav look throuirh the skies to heaven. 



139 



HAROLD TO ERNESTINE. 

Only tell me that yon love me, only tell me I am 

dear ; 
I am pining, I am pining those beloved words to 

hear. 
Press your hands, so soft and cooling, gently, 

gently on my brow; 
Look into mine eyes and tell me that you love me 

even now. 

Let my head upon your bosom, for one little 

moment rest ; 
Let me feel the uneven throbbing of the heart to 

which I'm pressed : 
Then, while comes the rosy burning like a blossom 

to my check, 
Let me close my eyes and listen to the whispers 

that you speak. 

Though there is a gulf between us, deep and feth- 
omless and wide ; 

Though no vow may ever bind us — though the 
future must divide, 

And the farewell words be spoken with no tear- 
drop in the eye; — 

Tell me only that you love me, as the star-beams 
love the sky ; 



140 

As the waters of the ocean love the misty, solemn 

moon ; 
As the rose-buds love the kisses of the golden 

hearted June ; 
As the ripples love the river, as the lilies love the 

dew ; 
As the heart within my bosom loves to throb, and 

throb for you. 

And the words will linger near me, through the 

darkness and the day, 
Through the sunlight and the moonlight and the 

gloaming's purple ray ; 
Through the temjoest, through the battle, through 

my lonesome path below : — 
Tell me only that you love me ; bless me once 

before I go. 

By the rock, the throb and flutter of the heart 

beside by own ; 
By the sobs that you are choking, by the anguish 

of your tone ; 
By the tears that in the moonlight trickle down 

and sadly shine ; 
By the ashy lips that tremble as I press them 

close to mine : — 

You arc telling the sweet story by the tear-drop 

and the sigh ; 
You are waiting to grow calmer, you will speak 

it by and by ! 



Ul 



I am going, darling, going ; have I wept and urged 



in vain? 



Tell me that you madly love me, though we never 
meet again. 



THE SPIEIT YISITOE. 

AYhere are the dear departed, 

That charmed my early hours — 
The gay, the happy-hearted, 

As lovely as the flowers ? 
I have watched for them at even, 

When the stars begin to glow ; 
" And is there no returning ? " 

I have asked, in murmurs low : 
When it seemed a voice would answer, 

" There is no returning, no ! " 

And when the morn is 'lighting 

With gold each hill and plain, 
My heart is still inviting 

Those lost ones back again ; 
And my soul is still inquiring, 

I ask where e'er I go, 
" Oh ! is there no returning 

Of those cherished ones below?" 
But the same sad voice still whispered, 
' There is no returning, no ! " 



142 

I Bometimes think their voices fall 

In music on mine ear, 
And turn in fond expectance, 

But alas ! they are not near; 
Yet I seem to hear their footsteps, 

But oh, it is not so ! 
For there is no returning 

Of those sleeping ones below ; 
For that thrilling voice still mutters, 

" There is no returning, no !" 

There is one that in my dreaming 

Seems to beckon me to go, 
Since there is no return again 

To life, on earth below ; 
Her robes are white and shining, 

And a crown is 'round her b^ow, 
And a bright transparent halo 

Seems shining 'round her now ; 
And noiseless are her footstej^s, 

As noiseless as the air : 
I know she is not earthly, 

For earth she is too fair. 

But I know that she reminds me 

Of one I used to love, 
Who faded in the spring-time, 

When skies were blue above. 
That face is very beautiful 

That comes to me by night, 
But ever will forsake me. 



143 



And flee before the light. 
She is that gentle being 

I loved in childhood's hours, 
With whom I used to wander 

When fragile as the flowers ; 
And oh ! when first she left me, 

My every walk hoAv lone ! 
And I scarce could make my youthful heart 

Believe my friend was gone : 
And still, when e'er I Avander 

Where we used of yore to go, 
I sigh for her returning, 

But the same voice answers — " IS^o ! " 



THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 

It stands by the river side, 

The still-house drear and brown, 
The roof is dark, and the chimney wide 
Hath partly fallen down. 
The owl hoots there in the dismal night, 
He looks like a ghost in the moonbeams white ; 
And his ghostly bride, with her round, large eyes, 
Folds her dark wings and hoarsely cries, 
" Too w^hoot ! too whoo ! 
I know wdiere ghosts walk, do not you ? " 

Darker and still more dark 
The shadows gather fast, 



144 

And noiseless steps and tall forms stark 
Move like a shadow past : 
Old age comes first, with thin white hair, 
And blear and scar on his brow so bare ; 
And the old owl stoi3s his chant to look ; 
But his mate croaks on from her mossy nook, 
" Too whoot ! too whoo ! 
I know where ghosts haunt, do not you?" 

There's youth, once young and strong, 

And manhood staid and wise ; 
But tales of sin, and woe, and wrong, 
Flash from their bloodshot eyes ! 
But scowls are on each once fair face, 
And only the tempter's mark you trace 
On the brow where kisses were wont to rest ; 
But the owl sings on from her mossy nest, 
" Too whoot ! too whoo ! 
I know Avhere ghosts hauLt, do not you?" 

Around the festal board 

Gather the ghastly band. 
And up to the brim the rum is poured 
By many a palsied hand. 
And each one drinks t\'ith horrid cheer, 
And each one speaks with a haught}" sneer, 
And laugh, and jest, and oath are heard ; 
But the owl chants on, with heart unstirred, 
" Too whoot ! too whoo ! 
T know where ghosts dwell, do not you? " 



Then cometh another band : 

There is Woman, robed in white, 
And kindly the touch of a gentle hand 
Rests on each shoulder light. 
The mother, the sister, the wife are there — 
The daughter with white lips moved in prayer ; 
And the owl stops with a stare so grim, 
That his mate half pauses to look at him: 
" Too whoot ! too whoo ! 
I know where ghosts walk, do not you? " 

There is childhood, fair and pure 
As the first wild flowers of spring, 
With a trusting love that will endure 
Thro' wrong, thro' everything : 
And round the neck are soft arms thrown; 
But not the tear, the kiss, the moan, 
Can melt the heart where the serpent lies ! 
And the owl chants on with calm, cold eyes, 
" Too whoot ! too whoo ! 
I know where ghosts haunt, do not you?" 

In vain — it is all in vain; 
Tears cease in mute despair, 
What power can whisper of hope again ? — - 
All, all is anguish there , 
And the slight forms sink 'neath the heavy blow. 
Lips pale, and faces are white as snow. 
And blood-drops stain the golden hair, — 
And the owl's voice dies in echo there, 
13 



146 

" Too wlioot! too wboo ! 
I know where ghosts dwell, do not you ? " 

The night hath lost her crown, 

Behind the forest green — 
Softly the young moon hath gone down, 
To slumbers most serene. 
The forms fade out in the empty air, 
And the owl sits mute with a solemn stare. 
Then starts and flies with heavy wings, 
While his ghastly bride but once more sings, 
" Too whoot! too whoo ! 
I know where ghosts dwell, do not you? " 



"OH, BUEY ME NOT IN THE DEEP, DEEP 

SEA." 

" Oh, bury me not in the deep, deep sea," 
Where the wild waves dash in their fearful glee, 
Where the glorious sunlight never laves 
The gloomy cells of the ocean caves ; 
Where the music ne'er to my rest can come. 
Of the wild bird's song, or the bee's low hum ; 
Where the Summer's warmth, or the light of Sj)ring 
'No change to my lowly bed can bring. 

Oh, bury me not in the deej), deep sea, 
For the waters deep to roll o'er me ; 



147 

I can not think that an ocean bed 

Must be the rest for my aching head ; 

I shudder to think of the cheerless graves, 

Far down, far down 'neath the waste of waves; 

Oh, do not place me to slumber there, 

'Tis my dying wish, 'tis my dying prayer. 

But there's a spot where I long to rest — 
JS'ear my childhood's home, in the distant west ; 
A churchyard place, it is calm and still, 
Where the breezes play, and the glad birds trill ; 
Where the long grass waves, with its tears of dew, 
Where violets mock the sky's deep blue. 
As the stars look down in the eventide ; 
Where my early friends rest side by side. 

My heart's first love, ah ! she slecpeth there. 
With her pallid cheek and her shaded hair ; 
In the light of life she passed away. 
Like the morning star at the break of day ; 
My heart went down in that quiet tomb. 
My life was there in that narrow room — 
The flowers of hope were all blighted sere. 
For I placed them there with a bitter tear. 

Oh ! oft I think of those blissful hours, 
When we roamed abroad mid the opening flowers, 
When life was fair, and its ways all bright ; 
But sorrow came, " like a thief at night," 
And the angel of death, with chilling grasp, 



U8 

Unfolded her fingers from my clasp, 
And stilled the heart in her joyful breast, 
And peacefully laid her down to rest. 

She came last night in my restless 8\ee\). 
Her thrilling voice made m}' glad heart leap : 
She bore me hopes from the heavenly lands, 
She pressed my brow with her fair, white hands ; 
But she said, Adieu, e're the light of day, 
And whispered, "Beloved one, haste thee away, 
From the wearisome earth and dwell with me: " 
But lay me not here, in the deep, deep sea. 

Oh ! many a mile will part our graves. 

If ye place me here 'neath the sullen waves ; 

No flowers can blossom above my head, 

No fixlling tear on my grave be shed, 

'No friend can come in the evening gloom, 

No stone can mark my watery tomb, 

No sound can come but the beating surge, 

As it mournfully chants my funeral dirge. 

There's a chillness over my aching brow, 

I feel the truth, I am dying now : 

A heavy hand on my heart is pressed, 

And the sighs come short from my weary breast. 

O distance ! and must thou our graves divide. 

And can I not rest by my loved one's side? 

Will my dark grave in the ocean be, 

And must I sleep in the deep, deep sea ? 



149 

"What forms are those that now meet my sight, 
With their folded wings and their robes of white ? 
Oh ! can you not, too, their voices hear, 
And the sound of music, soft and clear ? 
Do you see them there, far, far on high, 
Through the open gates of the azure sky, 
Belov'd, and dost thou near me come ? — 
She is here ! she is here in my dying room. 

My fettered soul will soon be free. 
The sorrows of earth can not trouble me, 
But I'll roam with her mid heavenly bowers, 
And crown her brow with unfading flowers. 
The time will come, and the word be said, 
For the deep, wide sea to give up her dead ; 
Then I care not where my dust shall be ; 
Yes, bury me here, in the deep, deep sea. 



THE LOST BOY. 



He had wandered in his beauty, 

The woodland path along, 
And followed the shining river, 

"While listening to its song ; 
He had gathered snowy lilies 

From the softly shaded shore ; 
His heart was a Summer fountain, 

With gladness brimming o'er. 



On, on, he gaily wandered, 
Yalley and glen he crossed, 

Onward, he knew not whither, 
Till he knew that he was lost. 

He sank on an emerald hillock. 

With a low and frightened cry ; 
He heard the wild winds murmur, 

With a ghostly, ghostly sigh ; 
He heard a strange bird sine-inir. 

Away in the tangled brake. 
And in the grass a rustle, 

Like the creeping of a snake : 
Just then a tiny sparrow 

Perched on a swinging limb. 
And a raven slowly flying. 

He saw in the azure dim. 

A smile on his red lips brightened, 

As a star when clouds depart, 
A shadow was softly lifted 

From his troubled little heart; 
He clasped his white hands softly, 

And lifted his foce so fair, 
Then said in a lisping whisper, 

A simply worded prayer. 
"O raven ! homeward flying, 
O sparrow ! on the tree, 
That love that watches o'er you, 

Will also care for me." 



151 

The night came down in darkness, 

But the child was not afraid — 
He had the grass for a pillow, 

And the breezes o'er him played. 
The dews of the night fell heavy 

Upon his golden hair, 
And his lips were often parted 

With the sweet assuring prayer, 
O raven ! homeward flying, 

O sparrow ! on the tree, 
The love that watches o'er you. 

Will much more care for me." 

Morn brightened fair with sunshine, 

And the boy was safe from harm, 
As safe as the babe that slumbered 

At home on its mother's arm. 
With a cry of joy they found him, 

A cry of blissful cheer. 
And they asked the little wanderer 

What kept his heart from fear. 
He told of the flying raven. 

And the sparrow on the tree, 
And added, " Our good Father 

Hath much more care for me." 



] r>'2 



LINES. 



There's many a spot unlovely to the sight, 
Where not a tlowcr may grow nor zephyr sigh, 
Nor bird may rest with lialf closed, jetty eye, 
Nor dew may glisten, holding for the bee 
A lucid cup composed of rainbow dyes. 
Nor leaf may float there wavering IVoni tlie tree 
'Neath the soft winds of gold Autumnal skies, — 
But there will cree}) a blessM ray of light, 
Making the rough sands glittering and bright. 

So on the lowliest heart love's genial ray 

Will softly fall in sorrow's saddest hour. 

Though it may bear no fresh and fragrant flower, 

And Time's dark hand be raised to sweep away, 

Yet will it wake a low, sweet music there, 

A trembling note of most delicious peace, 

A tone to still the haggard voice of care. 

And bid woe's jarring notes a moment cease. 

There is no heart so given to despair, 

But love's sweet rays will creep and glisten there. 



TO A CAGED BIED. 

On, Avhy so mournful and so tremulous 

The cadence of thy song — mournful yet sweet 

As the low vibrating of some lone harp, 



15.3 

Pill} ed b}' a lingering hand^ and echoing 
Upon the stilly air. Why do I ask? 
Thou art a captive bird^ — in vain thy wing 
Flutters and beats against the gilded wires 
Of thy fair prison-house. 

Ah ! this explains 
The dimness of thine eye, and trembling notes 
Of thy sweet voice, Can'st thou not be content? 
Thy cage is beautiful, thy food is rare. 
And love's soft hand doth watch thee every hour. 
Then sing, sweet forest bird, in praise to those 
AVho minister to thee. Sing as thou didst 
When fluttering 'mid the foliage of tlie wood's 
Bright verdant leaves. In vain I list — 'tis still 
The same complaining cadence, coming from 
A pining heart. 

Captive, what thoughts are thine? 
Oh let me turn magician, and compute 
What thy sad song in words would fain express. 
Thou'rt thinking, in thy gilded j^irison house. 
Of the glad sunlight and the pure soft air, 
Where erst thy free song rang in joyous notes, 
And Heaven's blue arch gave joyous eclio back — 
Of the high hills, whose waving, glittering grass 
Swayed to and fro, as thy unwavering wing 
Swept past — of the low vales where kindred notes 
AVere wont to blend with thine, and where the dew 
Shrined in the lily's cup was drank by thee ; 
Or. hovering o'er the rivulet, thy wing 



1.5 J: 

Kippled its sunny waves, 'mid changing light 
And shadows, mingling beautifully there — 
Or the deep forest, where thy cradle nest 
Was hidden 'mid the clustering leaves, and where 
Thy young, unsteady wing was trained to flight. 
Hast thou not longed, sweet bird, to mount again, 
"With a free gush of song, melodiously 
Welling from thy glad heart, till thou wert lost 
To watching eyes amid the boundless fields 
Of trackless air? 

There, warbler, would'st thou sing 
The sweetest song thy thankful heart could frame, 
With none to hear, and where thine eye could see 
JNTaught but the sunbeam and the deep blue sky, 
Or wandering cloudlet tinged with i^aly gold; 
And thou would'st sink, with motion wavering, 
Down 'mid the dewy foliage of the beech ; 
There rock'd to rest while zephyrs softly sing 
Their low, sweet lullaby. 

Say, hast thou not 
Dreamed thus amid the long and weary hours 
Of thy captivity ? Does this not give 
Th}^ song its mournful thrill? Ah, so it is! 
By the sad melody that answereth back 
From thy low cage I seem to hear the words, 
" Oh give me liberty, or life is but 
A wear}^ dream, which brings the heart but one 
Protracted torture." Thou wilt pine, bright bird, 
And thy last song will ask for liberty; 



155 

With plaintive, faltering notes, tliy wing will droop, 
Thy gentle eye grow dim, and thou wilt die ; 
Thy sad heart give one long vibration, then 
Break in that last, last sigh, its trembling strings ; 
And THEN thy long captivity will cease. 



THE EXILE. 



Has the Spring-time come ? for a gladsome bird 

Was singing, half carol, and half in song : 
It came to my ear like affection's word, 

And in my heart it has lingered long. 
This morn, as I looked through my iron grates, 

I saw no clouds on the brightning sky. 
As to the portals of morning's gates 

The chariot-wheels of the sun drew nigh. 

If it be Spring, how the fairy flowers 

Are opening their petals silently : 
How the birds are singing amid the bowers 

Of my native land far over the sea ! 
How the wild wood rings ; how the dancing rills 

Are dashing, and flashing in rainbow light, 
As, snake-like, wending around the hills, 

They kiss the shores with their waves so bright! 

How I long once more to see the land, 
The joyful, beautiful land of my birth, 



\r,{] 



Though those I loved of the household band, 
Have all gone down to their mother earth ; 

Though everj' friend has, perchance, forgot 
The dimmest lineament of my face ; 

Though none would mourn for the exile's lot, 
Or none would sigh for his vacant place. 

Oh ! let me think there is one who yet 

Has thoughts, 'mid her gloomy hours, for me : 
Though others forget me she can not forget, 

Though I no more may her loved one be. 
Percliance another has claimed the heart 

Which once was mine in its every beat ; 
Perchance his presence has bid depart 

Each lingering echo of first love, sweet. 

Yet it can not be, Oh ! it can not be ; 

And if another is by her side, 
I know she still has some thought for me, 

That time and absence can never divide. 
I know that yet, like a shadow, steals 

The beautiful dream of other days 
Within her heart, and my name reveals 

With love vows traced, 'mid the past's dim page. 

I know she thinks of the summer day 
When I girded on my sword and shield, 

And gently forced love's ties away 

For the desolate storm of the battle-field. 

This comes like a dream o'er her waking hours, 
And thouglits of the past, they can not sleep, 



1. 



)i 



As the long crushed petals of fragrant flowers . 
AVill still, though withered, their fragrance keep. 

The dream is over. The dream I traced 

In the beautiful morning of dewy life ; 
Yet HER sweet name can be ne'er effaced 

By the tossing waves of the sea of strife : 
And though I pine in a gloomy cell, 

And slowly die by a captive's hand, 
Yet a sea-shell echo will ever dwell 

Within my heart, of my native land. 



THE SECOND BEIDE. 

My fair, my first, my gentle bride. 

The " day star" of my years. 
In early, sunny youth she died, 

Mid sorrow, sadness, tears. 
And when her faithful heart w^as hushed, 

When her sweet lips were cold — 
When from her placid brow I brushed 

The wavy curls of gold, 
I said, " Beloved, if we must part 

In sadness and in pain, 
1^0 power can ever win my heart 

Back to the world again." 

Long years sped by of light and gloom, 
Of weai-y night and day ; 



I thought the shadows of her tomb 

Had almost passed away. 
"What " traitors to the past" are we, 

Swept on by time's rough tide, — 
A dark-haired gentle girl is she, 

My lovely second bride. 
]\Iost beautiful her melting eyes, 

Luxuriant the hair 
That curls its massive jetty dyes 

Around the brow so fair. 

My home is cheerful now, but oft 

My heart is deeply wrung. 
When her sweet voice is sino-inc: soft 

The songs another sung. 
This morn I saw her forehead flame, 

Her eyes grow dim with tears. 
As called I her the gentle name. 

So loved in other years ; 
On my true heart forever bright 

That dear name sweetly gleams : 
I wiiisper it by day, by night, 

I speak it in my dreams. 

Beneath the weeping willow trees, 
Where lute-like music creeps, 

'Mid singing birds and humming bees, 
My first bride sweetly sleej)s ; 

My feet will wander to that spot — 
My heart will with her be ; 

The second bride is dear, but not 



One-half so dear as she. 
And often in my secret hours 

The locket fair I ope, 
Where sweeter than the Summer flowers 

She smiles in love and hope ; 
]\Iy tears iiuist fall, howe'er I strive. 

Upon the pictured face, 
And my heart stfill must keep for her 

Tts deepest, dearest place. 

I sought her lowly grave last night, 

The sky was clear and hlue ; 
Around the head-stone marble white 

Were lilies twined with dew ; 
My second bride had placed them there : 

My tears fell thick and fast. 
As prayed I, in my heart's desj)air, 

I might forget the past. 
Oh ! dear, thrice dear, the second bride 

Who charms my household nowj 
Oh ! may I never leave her side. 

Or sadden her fair brow ! 
Worthy of love she long has proved ; 

But vain, 'tis all in vain — 
For one who loves as I have loved. 

Can never love again. 



160 



THE GEAVES OF THE FLOWEES. 

The woods are full of tiny graves, 

The sweet graves of the flowers, 
That sprang in every sheltered nook. 

Amid the Spring-time hours. 
The buttercup lies on the slope 

AYhere first the sunlight fell ; 
The violet sleejis beside the rill. 

The daisy in the dell. 

Uj)on no stone is carved the name 

Of April's children fair ; 
They perished when the sky was bright, 

And gentle was the air. 
To the soft kisses of the breeze 

They held, half trembling, up, 
Full many a small transparent urn 

And honey-laden cup. 

But when the roses budded out, 

In summer's balmy hours, 
No little mound was made to tell 

Where slept the gentle flowers. 
Those early flowers — they seem to me 

Like little children sweet. 
Who smile a moment on our path, 

Then perish at our feet. 



161 

We know they can not linger, e'en 

In love's most fond embrace ; 
We see the mark of Paradise 

Meek shining from their face ; 
And soon their tiny graves are made, 

But years go circling by, 
And not a stone can tell us where 

The little children lie. 

But some are sleeping on the hill, 

Beneath the emerald grass, 
Where gay birds soaring to the sky. 

Pause singing as they pass. 
And many in the churchyard sleep, 

And many in the dell. 
And many near the cottage homes 

Of those who loved them avcII. 

Oh, many an Indian baby lies 

In forest old and grand ; 
Its rustic playthings fallen from 

The moldering little hand ; 
And flowers have sj^rung, and flowers have died, 

Upon its silent breast ; — 
Their nameless graves are side by side : 

None mark them as they rest. 

Yet, in each grassy, humble mound, 

Where sleeping childhood lies, 

A bud is bursting into bloom — 

A blossom for the skies. 
14 



102 

But, all [ the flowers, the April flowers ! 

Their graves are small and low ; 
We know they lie in woodland bowers, 

And more we can not know. 



LIFE'S HARP. 



Life's harp is in full tune this morn, 

As tho' 'twere touched with angel wings ; 
For oh ! such glorious music floats 



Along its golden strings. 



It does not sing an olden strain, 

' To taunt me with the shadowy past ; 
It does not lead me back again 
To hours that could not last. 

It tells me of a present joy, 

A joy till now unfelt, unknown — 

Life's harp is in full tune this morn, 
Celestial every tone. 

It can not evermore be so. 

Or life were hemmed with angel wings ; 
The dusts of change must fall, I know, 

And molder on its strings. 

And note by note will pass away, 

And thrill, and break, and thrill again ; 

Then shall the tune I try to play 
Be but a shattered strain. 



1G3 

And jet, methinks, the striiin were sweet, 
For thought would gently lead me on, 

And memory make the tune complete 
Of life's delicious dawn. 



EVA. 

Bloom brightly, fair flowers, 
Around the white stone, 

Where sleepeth my Eva, 
My loved and my own. 

Who hath gone from this world, 
And left me alone. 

Oh ! she was the idol 

Of life's early day ; 
But, fearing the censure 

That worldlings might say, 
Pride tore my weak heart 

Prom sweet Eva away. 

Her home was a cottage. 

All lowl}', but fair, 
While mine was a castle, 

High tow'ring in air : 
This forced me from Eva, 

The gentle and fair 



164 

She died — it were better 

Than living apart; 
She died, and the sunlight 

Went out from my heart ; 
She died, and the world 

Can no pleasure impart. 

A voice is Avithin me, 

It speaketh aloud, 
" Her pure heart you blighted — 

You fashioned her shroud; 
It is meet you should go 

With your heart crushed and bowed." 

And over the wide world, 

AYherever I go, 
A shadow pursues me. 

And darkly doth throw 
A gloom o'er my heart. 

Deep throbbing with woe. 

And conscience reproveth — 

In beauty's fair throng, 
At morning, at evening. 

Ay, all the day long. 
It whispers and whisj^ers 

The tale of her wrong. 

Oh ! sweet is her slumber 

All quiet her rest, 
And closed are her dark eyes, 



165 

And hushed is her breast : 
Sleep, sleep on, lost Eva, 
My dearest and best. 

Last night, in my dreaming, 

We met as of yore ; 
Thine arms were around me, 

And, beating once more 
To my own, was the pure heart, 

Whose throbbings are o'er. 

Then changed grew the vision ; 

Thy brow beamed with light. 
Thine eyes looked reproachfully. 

Tearful and bright 
Into mine, and thy shroud folds 

Were rustling and white. 

Sweet Eva, lost Eva, 

My loved and my own. 
Hast thou gone from this dark world. 

And left me alone, 
With a stain on my heart 

That the world can't atone? 

The plighted faith broken, 

All loudly it cries. 
And vows I have spoken 

Before me arise. 
And my heart is kept writhing 

While these meet my eyes. 



O Eva ! lost Eva ! 

The thought of thy wrong, 
It haunts me, it haunts me 

On life's way along ; 
My soul how it wrest leth, 

It can not be strong. 

In dreaming, in waking, 

Is still by my side 
The image death's river 

Has failed to divide 
From my heart's adoration, 

My fair promised bride. 

Bloom sweetly, fair flowers. 
Around the white stone 

Where sleej^eth my Eva, 
My worshiped, my own, 

Who hath gone from this world 
And left me alone. 



THE LITTLE GIEL UNDER THE SXOW 

They are all asleep ; each curl-swept head 

Eests on its pillow white : 
I have stolen around to each quiet bed, 

Again and again, to-night. 
But now, as I sit in mv old arm-chair, 



1G7 

In the firelight's golden glow, 
My heart will go, in its mute despair, 
To the little girl under the snow. 

I dare not gaze out on the world to-night, 

But I hear the loud winds roar ; 
I know the drifts are deep and white 

Around my cottage door. 
I bend again o'er each little bed, 

And hear the breathings low 
Of my sleeping babes — but oh, the dead ! 

The little girl under the snow. 

Oh ! does she not start, in her dreamless sleep, 

With a low, wild cry of fear! 
Sometimes, I think I hear her weep, 

AYitli a mother's listening ear. 
Cold, cold is she in her shroud of white, 

In the dismal grave so low : 
I would she were here in my arms to-night — 

The little girl under the snow. 

Be still, my heart ! In the Summer time 

We laid her down to rest ; 
We said she had gone to a fairer clime — 

She had gone to Jesus' breast ; 
That He, in His own dear love would keep 

Her safe from another woe — 
Oh, should we not envy the dreamless sleep 

Of the little girl under the snow ? 



1G8 

And but for the living my tears should be, 

As I think of my little band, 
Scattered like blossoms on the sea, 

"When the tempest sweeps the land. 
Oh, shield them, Father, with Thine own love, 

Wherever their feet may go, 
And bring them safe to the home above, 

Of the little girl under the snow. 



THE TEIFLER. 



He told her she was dear to him. 
And that her face was fair ; 

He praised the softness of her eyes. 
The auburn of her hair. 

Her lips were like the crimson rose, 
Eipe, fragrant, and so sweet ; 

Her heart was like a Summer bird, 
Singing at every beat. 

He won her whole young life to him- 
He was her ^oj, her light ; 

And if he came, the darkest day 
Was always fair and bright. 

Her quiet walks at eventide 

Were now no more alone : 
He won her pure young heart to him, 

Y'et gave her not his own. 



169 

To him it was an idle thing, 
The pass-time of an hour, 

To win that joyous heart to him, 
To trample like a flower. 

It was a 2>leasanL joy to note 
The glow of STieli a cheefk ; 

It flattered him to be beloved 
By one so J3ure and meek. 

It passed away, her humble name," 
From out his heart's dark book ; 

He sought no more that lowly home 
Beside the singing brook. 

She listened for his step in vain, 
Till hope and love grew dim; 

Yet, in the cloister of her soul 
Was secret prayer for him. 

She wondered if he could forget 
The past so sweet and fair, 

And if still near his heart reposed 
The tress he vowed to wear. 

The past was but a dream to him, 
Her face disttirbed him not ; 

The curling tress was cast away, 
Dust- clouded and forgot. 

She thought of all the words he said 
On manv a summer's eve, 

15 



170 

And told tliein to her doubting heart 
That it might cease to grieve. 

He mingled with the world again, 

As smiling as of yore, 
Nor thought of the neglected flower, 

That for awhile he wore. 

He went, and hours flew glistening by, 
Like birds on shining wing, 

And while the days were dark to her, 
To him 'twas like the Spring. 

He won a bright and blooming rose, 

The beauty of a day ; 
The thorns entwined about his heart, 

And tore its life away. 



DEAD TO ME. 



Not above thy placid brow. 
Moss and ivy cluster now, — 
Not above each sightless eye, 
Lashes dim and dnsty lie ; 

Yet a voice so deep and thrilling, 
Sounds like distant moaning sea; 

All my soul with sadness filling, 
"Dead to me — dead to me." 



171 



kStill thy lips with gladness speak, — 
Still the peach bloom paints thy cheek, — 
Still thy heart throbs to and fro, 
Warm and glad as long ago ; 
Yet that voice doth never leave me, 
Wheresoe'er on earth I be ; 

Still that thought can not deceive me, 
"Dead to me — dead to me." 

It's o'er — doth never now 
One dim ghost of thy dead vow 
Float before thee sad and white, 
In thy gala robes of might ? 

When the world-crowd kneels around thee 
When proud hearts bow low to thee ? 

Oh no, pride and scorn have bound thee — 
"Dead to me — dead to me." 

Better far to know to-day, 
Every feature changed to clay ; 
Better far a silent heart, 
Than love's light to thus depart. 

" Dead yet living " — Oh, what sorrow 
Must this thought forever be. 

Still to hear on each to-morrow, 
"Dead to me — dead to me." 

Yet I meet thee calm and cold, 
Gaze upon thy locks of gold — 
Gaze upon thy tearless eyes, 
Like the moonlit May-time skies ; 



172 

Yet the measured words I utter, 

Tell no loving sigh to thee, 
Give thy heart no hidden flutter — 

"Dead to me — dead to me." 

Had I laid thee sadly low, 

Where the early daisies blow ; 

Ere thy love grew dim and dark, 

Ere was ashes every spark ; 

Then though life were gloom without thcc, 

Though my heart was dead with thee, 

Ne'er would come these words about me, 

" Dead to me — dead to me." 



AUTUMN HOUES. 

The Spring has come, the Spring has gone, 

The Summer, too, is past, 
And the Autumn-time, the Autumn-time, 

It hath returned at last ; 
Aud as the wind all restless sighs 

Through every leafy tree, 
I call to mind the Autumn-hours 

I used to spend with thee. 

The trees have often cast their leaves 

Upon the frost-geni"d ground, 
And the snows of many winters since 

The hills and w^oods have crowned. 



173 

Oh, many a year, with rapid wing, 

Has gone by, changingly. 
Since the Autumn hours, the Autumn hours, 

I used to spend with thee. 

Oh, cherished, cherished Autumn hours, 

We were but children then, 
And our lives j^assed on as quietly, 

As the river in the glen. 
And as we rambled side by side, 

Culling the ling'ring flowers. 
Life seemed to us a gorgeous chain 

Of pleasure-laden hours. 

But years have come, and years have gone 

Since that sweet time, I know, 
And life hath brought its many cares, 

And many throbs of woe, 
And angel songs no more we hear 

Amid life's fading bowers ; 
Oh, sorrow nestles in my heart 

Since those dear Autumn hours. 

The Autumn comes, the Autumn goes. 

The leaflets fade and die. 
And the hollow winds, in dirge-like notes. 

Go sadly whisp'ring by. 
Dear friend, the tears are in my eyes, 

Amid the dying flowers, 
For I go dreaming to the past — 

Those by-gone Autnm.n houi's. 



174 

The grove and vale, and earth and sky, 

Are as they used to be, 
But hours can never be like those 

I used to sj)end with thee. 
Yet time and change, those workers strong, 

Can never take from me 
The memory of those Autumn hours 

I used to spend with thee. 



THE YISIT HOME. 

I've been in our old home to-day, 

And seen the sunlight creep 
Through the half open lattice, where 

The blue-birds used to sleep. 
Their pretty nests had fallen down, 

And not a chirp was heard, 
To bring from memory's fairy land 

A love-enwreathed word. 

How silent was our little room ; 

The shadows on the floor 
Of gently stirring locust leaves, 

Fell trembling near the door ; 
And one sweet-lip2)ed, coquettish breeze 

Came singing from the west — 
It brought a tiny myrtle bud, 

And laid it on my breast. 



1 



/ o 



The river wound its sliiiiing arms 

Around the ch. vered hill, 
And, now and then, I heard the rush 

Of water from die mill ; 
And, ruddy in the sunset glow, 

I saw the old church spire 
Pictured against the distant sky 

In characters of fire. 

One long, long look, and then my head 

Fell heavy on my hands ; 
For, like a child, I'd wandered back 

To life's bright morning lands. 
Forgetting that the glorious isle 

Was wra])ped by mists of years, — ■ 
Forgetting what had intervened. 

Of gloomy doubts and fears. 

I heard the twitter, low and soft, 

Of birds beneath the eaves, 
And sweet .Eohis singing out 

A vesper to the leaves ; 
And, oh ! my sad heart panted for 

The fire upon the hearth, 
And those dear forms that made for me 

An Eden of the earth. 

But where were they ? I looked afar. 

And slabs of marble white 
Stood motionless beneath the trees, 

And ghostly in the light. 



176 

I know they sleep most sweetly there, 
From care and sorrow free ; 

Oh, love me, love me, sister dear, 
There is none left but thee. 

I've been in our old home to-day, 

And all alone have wept. 
As those can only weep whose hearts 

Life's early dreams have kept. 
I never can go there again, 

It is no place for me ; 
With crushed heart I must turn away, 

There is none left but thee. 



THE POET'S BEIDAL. 

"He watched her suffering Jay by day; and when hope was 
quite dead — that he might make little journeys with her, and 
minister to her gently, as no one could but one whose light 
came from her eyes — he married her. While her sun was set- 
ting, he placed his hand in hers, that he might go down with 
her into the night." 

Yes, thou art dying in early youth — 
I've kept my heart from the fearful trutli ; 
I've hoped and trusted day by day. 
Till Hope's deal' image paled away ; 
E'en now the light in thy gentle eyes 
Beams soft like a ray from Paradise, 
And thy thrilling tone, so low and clear, 
Comes like a note from another sphere. 



We plighted our feith when life was bright, — • 
In the golden dawn of youth's fairy light, 
We plighted our faith for future years ; 
It has still lived on through doubts and fears, 
Pure as the droj)s from heavenly springs. 
And white as the young dove's shining wings. 
True as the pole star's light above 
Has been the star of our constant love. 

Ah ! gentle one, in a distant land 
I sought for wealth on the ocean's strand! 
How often thy young face, so sweet and bright, 
Came like a dream in the silent night ! 
How oft, in fancy, I heard thy tone 
Speaking fond words as I sat alone ; 
And sweet Hojdc dried the falling tears, 
Whispering softly of future yearo ! 

The dream is over, — j-et let me go, 

Down where the dai'ksome waters flow ; 

I would shield thy form and clasp thy han.d, 

E'en to the shores of the better land : 

I would watch thee till the waters cease, 

And harp-strings thrill from the shores of peace; 

I would be near when the last soft breath 

Melts from thy lips at the kiss of death. 

My sad heart aches, —'tis a bitter cup, 
E'en to the blest, to give thee ujd ! 
But, dearest, if thou indeed must die, 
Oh ! bind our hearts with a holv tie. 



178 

And now, on the last dark sands of life. 
Before we part, let me call thee wife, 
'Tis a sweet request, thou wouldst not be 
So utterly lost, e'en here, to me. 

A sad, .sad bridal, yet full of bliss : 
I had not thought of an hour like this ; 
I had not thought of a d^'ing bride. 
Like a white rose, drooping b}' my side ! 
I*Tever, oh, never ! the holy vow 
Trembled on lips so pure as now ; 
Never w^as i^lighted a truer heart, — 
And art thou going? — and must we part? 

Oft have I dreamed of quiet bliss. 
Of happy homes in a Avorld like tliis — 
Of a humble home where I might hear 
Thy gentle voice iji its music clear. 
Oh ! to have thee near me day by day. 
With thy constant love : it would well repay 
The years of gloom and the ache of heart, 
When fate, with a stern voice, bade us part. 

Yet go, my love, to a fairer home, 
Whc^i'e never a note of woe can come : 
Sorrow and death are the guests of earth, 
And cast a pall o'er the brightest hearth. 
Yes, there, oh ! there, I will meet thee there, 
After a few hours of gloom and care i 
Farewell, sweet wife ! life's shreds are riven ; 
My heart goes with thee up to heaven ! 



171) 



THE HOUK OF EELEASE. 

The stars are thick in the skies to-night; 

I never saw theiu so bright before, — 
They seem like barques of silver white 

Dropped close by the heavenly shore. 
The breezes embrace the dewy flowers — 

I never heard winds with such lips of song ; 
My heart sings out to the quiet hours, 

As their soft wings glide along. 

The skies — oh ! what is there beaming there ? 

They always seemed shadowed and dim before; 
To-night the seraphs with golden hair 

Stand close to the earthly shore ; 
Anon in my listening ear there floats 

A faint, faint music, so soft and clear, 
I know I am listening to the notes 

That the newly-ransomed hear. 



YE WOULD NOT KNOW ME NOW. 

Ah Jamie, dear Jamie, 

Ye would not know me now ; 
There is no rose on my sunken cheek, 

No light locks on my brow ; 
Were ye raised up from the cold, damp grave, 



180 

To gaze on me once more. 
Ye would not know your bride, Jamie, 
Your bonny bride of yore. 

Ah Jamie, my Jamie, 

As I sit in my lonely room. 
And toil and toil, and stitch and stitch, 

Till the night wears by in gloom, 
I often sigh, as I wipe my tears, 

And rest my aching brow : 
Were ye raised up from the chilly grave, 

Ye would not know me now. 

Ah Jamie, best Jamie, 

1 lull our babes to sleep 
With a low, sad strain, and my loving heart 

How it throbs to hear them weep ; 
Thei" are thin and pale for the want of bread, 

And a flush is on each brow ; 
Ye would not know your own sick babes, 

And 3^e would not know me now. 

Ah Jamie, dear Jamie, 

Our cot in the mossy vale, 
I visit it oft in my soft, sweet dreams. 

And cull the cowslips pale. 
And see the pansy's dewy lips. 

And hear thy love's first vow : 
But why should the wretched dream of joy, 

Thou art o^one forever, now. 



181 

Ah Jamie, my Jamie, 

It is hard to toil for bread : 
I never dreamed in my girlhood hours 

To live when thou wert dead. 
I never dreamed of this lonely room, 

And the clods uj^on thy brow ; 
Were ye raised up from the chilly grave, 

Ye would not know me now. 

Ah Jamie, dear Jamie^ 

The light fades from mine eye ; 
Sometimes I faint, in my gloomy hours, 

And fear that I must die : 
'Twould be a sweet rest with thee, dear, 

With the dust o'er heart and brow ; 
But w^ho would care for our babes, Jamie, 

They've none beside me now. 

Ah Jamie, my Jamie, 

The world is dark and drear. 
Only the sound of the cit}" hum 

Comes to my lonely ear ; 
And I crush the sobs in my throbbing heai't, 

And kiss each baby brow^, 
And say, and say, in a whisper soft, 

"Ye would not know me now^" 



^ 



182 



THAT LITTLE HAND. 

Oh tell me not that he is dead ! 

He is not lost to me. 
His gentle wings are o'er me spread — 

Their light 1 can not see. 

His little hand is in mine own, 

How oft I feel it thrill ! 
Oh no, I never am alone, 

For he is "with me still. 

His little hand, so frail and fair ! 

I held it when he died, 
As, with an agonizing prayer, 

I knelt me by his side. 

I felt its quiver and its clasp, 

I heard his gentle moan ; 
And then, like snow-flakes was the grasp 

That weakened in mine own. 

I know these little fingers white 

Have moldered into clay ; 
But oh ! the hand I held that night 

Has never passed away. 

And never has that tone been mute, 
Or that love lost to me : 



183 

His voice comes to rae like a lute, 
From lips I can not see. 

That little hand, when all alone. 

Dark Sorrow's cup I drain, 
Seems pressing closer in mine own 

Then how can I complain ? 

And when the storm-clouds o'er me rise, 
Nor light comes with tlic day, 

That little hand is o'er mine eyes, 
To wipe their mists away. 

Oh, death is not forgetfulness ! 

It is not utter loss : 
Our dear ones do not love us less 

When they the death-gulf cross. 

Oh, thou sweet cherub — gentle dove, 

From storms forever flown, 
Let thy light sj)irit-hand of love 

Forever clasp mine own. 

And when the cares of life are o'er, 

May angels near me stand. 
And lead me to a lovelier shore, 

By that dear little hand. 



184 



TO NELLIE. 

I'm listening for thy voice, Nellie, 

As the soft winds float away, 
And a golden haze is on the brow 

Of the calm, Autumnal day. 
But a shadow steals athwart my sioul, 

My lips grow cold and mute — 
Th}' voice is a broken lute, Nellie, 

Thy voice is a broken late. 

I'm waiting for thy step, Nellie, 

I am waiting till I hear 
Each lonesome throb of the saddened heart, 

To which thou wast so dear. 
Eut the thrilling song of the Avoodland bird 

Comes ringing through the dell ; 
Thy step hath gone like the summer breeze — 

The step I loved so well. 

I'm looking for thine eyes, JSellie, 

I'm looking for thine eyes, 
AA^hen the stars come forth, and the bashful moon 

"Walks softly down the skies. 
And in the clear, celestial blue, 

As I am gazing now, 
A something thrills my soul, Nellie ; 

A something ; — Is it thou ? 



185 

I'm looking on thy face, Nellie, 

As it comes to me at night, 
With lij)S that have not lost their bloom, 

And eyes so softly bright. 
And then I ponder in my heart 

The sweet delicious past ; 
Oh, thou Trast my dear first love, K"ellie, 

And thou shalt be my last. 

It is years since thou hast died, Nellie, 

Long years since thou hast died, 
And heaven but knows how oft I've prayed, 

To lay me by thy side. 
But many weary, weary miles 

Between us darkly be, 
And the same wild rose will never cast 

Its blooms o'er thee and me. 

The world seems very fair, Nellie — 

Fair for those hearts that bloom. 
But mine is like a storm-rent tree, 

And molders in thy tomb. 
And ever in my dreams at night. 

The past floats sweetly by — 
The past, 'tis a madness noiv, Nellie — 

Oh why, why didst thou die? 

16 



18G 



THE EOBIN'S SOKG. 

I HEAR a robin singing 

Out in the Autumn rain ; 
My soul its way is winging 

To chMdhood's time again ; 
I hear the south winds blowing, 
The rush of the harvest mowing, 
And the voice of the river flowing, 

Where lilies lived and died ; 
I rest beneath the shadow 
Of the aspen in the meadow, 

With no hope crucified. 

And now his song is ovei*, 

I hear the falling rain. 
But I seem to smell the clover 

With honeyed lips again ; 
And locks the world hath braided, 
And eyes the tomb hath shaded, 
Come back undimmed, unfaded, 

To my glad heart once more ; 
And all the sky is lighter, 
And all the world is brighter. 

Until my dream is o'er. 

Oh, frail ties, fair and golden, 
That bind us to the past — 

Oh, dreams when hours the olden 
Seem nil come back at last; 



1S7 

vSlight arc the spells that take us 
To sweetest thoiightSj and wake us 
From heartless things that make us 

Of sordid life the slaves; 
And through the world's rough bustle 
There come the rush an rustle 

Of angel-wings, like waves. 



CONFESSION AND JUSTIFICATION. 

•• I'm not false, but I am tickle," 
I did love you when I said so," 

Time cuts heart-flowers like a sickle, ' 
Would that yours had never bled so. 

You do tivrtly call me traitor, 
Word doth bitter word inspire, 

Once the lover, now the hater. 
You could see me in the fire. 

It was no design — no treason 
That I wove love's ties about you, 

I had been bereft of reason, 

Once, to think to live without you. 

All your words were perfect honey, 
You thought oft, and I thought offer 

We could live on lovo, not money; 
You were soft, and I some softer. 



188 

When we parted, life was ashes, 
You were love-sick, I no better, 

'Twas a sight, the O's and dashes, 
Dears and doves, in every letter. 

Time passed on, my heart grew colder, 
Other thoughts were in my bosom, 

Love grew weaker, joy grew bolder, 
I a bee, the Avorld a blossom. 

I saw other pleasant faces, 

Not your own, but just as pretty, 

Others bowed, Avith smiles and graces, 
Not your own, but just as witty. 

Then I tried, with fear and trembling. 
To win back my thoughts coquettish. 

But, I'll tell without dissembling — 
Solitude but made me pettish. 

Others loomed indeed above you, 
And I think that I was fated. 

For the more I tried to love you^ 
Just the more I found I hated. 

Then your locket grew more dusty. 
That I used to dim with kisses. 

And your letters soiled and musty, 
Once the greatest of all blisses. 



189 

Now you see, you should not blame me, 
My own heart I did not fashion. 

If 'tis fickle, do not shame me, 
Don't, dear, get in such a passion. 

Do you know you used to vow me. 
That whate'er might be hereafter, 

You would love me still ; allow me 

To remind you, though with laughter. 

Once I thought you " mild and pleasant 

As the zephyr 'mid the trees," 
But I live to know at present. 

You can " stir up quite a breeze." 

Once I thought that nought could move you, 
Dove-like you were always cooing. 

When of yore I used to love you, 
In those golden days of wooing. 

What if love's soft chains had bound me 

To your fate in other hours, 
Would not the to-day have found me 

Chained with iron, not with flowers. 

Would'nt I have drooped with sorrow, 
Would'nt I have learned to fear jou, 

And in wedded life's to-morrow, 

Been " commanded " not to " dear " you. 



I!j0 

Farewell, love, I'm glad I'm tickle, 
Glad that I'm inconstant-hearted, 

Very glad that Time's sharp sickle 
With one blow our life-ways parted. 

Pra}' do try your rage to smother, 
1 will nevermore defame you ; 

May yon live to love another, 

Who has skill enough to lame you. 

One who'll prove to you iiistanter. 
That 'tis no small job to i-ule her, 

Marry her — I will not haunt her, 
For I'd love to see you school hci*. 

For 3^on need to learn a lesson, 
Tho' your nature is so human ; 

Take this counsel and my blessing, — 
Xever quaii'el with a woman. 



TO ONE BEPAETED. 

Over hill and over vallej' 

Hangs the curtain of the night ; 
All is touched with softer beauty 

In the moonbeam's quivering light. 
And I sit in pensive sadness, 

Listening to the wild bird's song, 
Or the music of the streamlet, 

As it softly ripples on. 



191 

Then sweet fancy brightly pictures 

Forms again I used to see, 
And the fairest of that number, 

Angel friend, I find in thee. 
Though thy face has lost the luster 

And the smile of careless mirth, 
It doth wear a mystic brightness 

Which can never be of earth. 

B}' thy side I seem to wander, 

As I often did of j^ore — 
Every spot beloved and cherished, 

Thought doth visit then once more. 
Oft I see the wreath of roses 

Bound around thy gloss}^ hair, 
And I hear thy voice of gladness 

Which did ever banish care. 

In the silence of the forest, 

Where the fairest blossoms grew. 
And the shaded, blue-eyed violet 

Bore all day its gems of dew ; 
There thou art to list the music 

Of the wind among the trees. 
And thy cheek is brightly glowing 

In the fragrant wandering breeze. 

But the lovely dream must vanish 

As the echo of a song — 
On the earth no more thou dwellest, 

But among the "white robed throng." 



192 

And no more the wreath of roses, 
Which will fade e'er day is done, 

Binds thy brow, but crown unfading, 
Like the brightness of the sun. 

And no more we hear the music 

Of thy voice in joyous song: 
But it swells in sweetest praises, 

'Mid a bright undying throng. 
We have said farewell forever. 

On this earth of woe and pain ; 
Let us hope no more to sever, 

Far on high when mot again. 



NIGHT MUSINGS. 

The night is here, the gentle-bosomed night. 
With starry gems around her dusky hair ; 

Her azure eyes with soft and shadowy light 
Look deep into my heart — she seeth there 
Naught but the rocks of dead hope and despair. 

Bird, bee, and breeze are lulled to quiet rest — 
Sleep broodeth o'er the eye-lids of the flowers ; 

Her soothing fingers on their brows are pressed — 
I sleepless sit and list the tinkling hours ; 
With odorous breathings lean they to the bowers. 



193 

This day, my friend, too oft I wove for thee, 
In the thick woof of Thought the sparkling 
thread : 

The sunny past should now as nothing be ; 
Or, if remembered, as a flower that shed 
Its perfume to the winds and now lies dead. 

All da}' I've mingled with the joyous throng — 
The mask of smiles has rested on my brow 

Like pressing thorns, and j'et I trilled the song ; 
But it hath passed away and leaves me now 
As winter leaves the bird-forsaken bough. 

All day through my heart's corridors has swept 
The ceaseless dirge that comes up from the past ; 

All day within my soul the sight has kept 

Of broken flower -wreaths scattered to the blast, 
Drifting adown oblivion's waters fast. 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 

Slumber on fair child — in future years 

Not half so sweet will be thy sleep ; 
For life's conflicting doubts and fears 

Will cause thee waking hours to keep. 
To watch and pray, perchance to weep, 

Till care's deep lines are on thy brow. 
Then sleep, fair child, and sweetly sleep, 

For not one shadow haunts thee now. 
17 



194 

Sleep on — thy dimpled hand is laid 

So softly 'mid thy clustering hair, 
Thy cheeks are tinged with rose-leaf shade, 

And sweetest Smiles thy young lips wear. 
Oh! thou art fair, sweet sleeper — fair 

As if an angel's hand did trace 
Thy features with exacting care. 

And heavenly beauty lights thy face. 

I tremble sadly, as my heart 

Is pondering o'er what fate may be 
When childhood's halcyon days depart. 

Amid youth's hours reserved for thee; 
Whether thy heart shall still be free 

From doubt and sorrow, care and gloom, 
Or thou, a stricken one, may'st see 

Hope's sunlight set in fate's dark tomb. 

Ah ! little, little didst thou dream 

Of what an older heart must know. 
That life is not a tranquil stream. 

Whose lucid waves are free from woe ; 
I would that thou might'st find them so, 

But 'tis not oft a mortal's fate ; 
Full many a sigh, and heart's deep throe 

Must make life's momen.ts desolate. 

Sleep on, sweet child : I will not think 
Of what may come in future hours — • 

Whether 'twill be thy lot to drink 
Of sorrow's cup, or cull the flowers 



195 



That brightly bloom in pleasure's bowers ; 

But I will pray that strength be given 
To bear thee through this world of ours, 

And faith to bring thee home to heaven. 



ELMA HOWAED. 



"Ah! how dismally the shadows 
Gather o'er the lonesome world, 

And the new moon brightly breaketh 
Through the gloaming's misty gold. 

"Long I've listened for the gallop 

Of his courser, down the dale, 
But have only heard the bul-bul, 

And the soughing of the gale."— 

Sadly whispered Elma Howard, 

With her red lips half apart, 
While she locked her brown hands tightly, 

As to still her aching heart. 

In her night-black locks she'd braided 
Crimson berries, bright and pure. 

Saying, hopefully, yet sadly, 
" He will meet me, I am sure. 



196 

•' For he said, ' My gentle Ella, 
When you see the fair new moon 

Brightly marked along the azure 
Of the western sky, in June, 

" 'Wait you neath the dusky shadows 

Of the gum-tree, in the dell, 
Where I oft have met you, Ella — 

I have something I would tell.' " 

Dim and paler grew the gloaming, 
Stars and moon more softly bright. 

Filling all the shadowy hollows 
With a calm and steady light j 

But alone stood Elma Howard, 
With a strangely troubled heart, 

Saying, " He is far above me, 
Fate will set our lives apart. 

" For his name is very noble, 
And he can not count his gold ; 

Why should I be here to meet him?" 
And she shuddered as with cold. 

'!N"eath white lids the dark eyes sheltered, 
That the tear-drops might not fall ; 

Then she murmured, " It were better 
We had never met at all. 



197 

" Better I had never listened 
To the music of his tone"- 



Swept a courser down the valley — 
Elma stood no more alone. 

Ey her side stood Albert Lacy, 

Gently took her by the hand, 
And he thought her in the twilight 

Fairest maiden in the land. 

But his soft blue eyes were dreamy, 

And his smile no sunshine had. 
And he sighed as one aweary. 

For his heart was very sad. 

In his face looked Elma Howard, 
With a glance half love, half fear, 

In her thought no ancient story 
Told of such a cavalier. 

" I am late, my gentle Ella, 

See, the moon is going down. 
And the dew upon your tresses 

Sparkles brightly as a crown. 

" Sit beside me in the shadow, 

For I can not bear the light, 
I have something I must tell you. 

Though my heart should break to-night." 



198 

Paused he then, as though to gather, 
In the solemn silence, strength 

For the framing of his story ; 

But his voice she heard at length. 

And her heart grew strangely silent 
In the meshes Love had set, 

As a bird that does not struggle 
Any longer in the net, 

"Elma," said he, very sadly, 

"In a city, far away. 
Dwells a fair and gentle lady, 

Lovelier than my words can say. 






" She has tresses like the sunbeams 
And her voice is sweet and low 

And her eyes are blue as sapphire. 
And her cheeks are like the snow. 

"But she sniiles when I am coming, 
And her white cheek flushes red ; 

Elma, years we have been plighted, 
And to-morrow we shall wed. 

"But my heart is grieved, dear Ella, 
That your face no more I'll see, 

For I can not tell how precious 
You have ever been to me. 



199 

Very still was Elma Howard, 

Lip and cheek no more were red, 

But her features in the moonlight 
Were as snowy as the dead. 

And she heard as one a-dreaming 
Breezes whisper and dej^art. 

And the streamlet's waters singing, 
Like an overflowing heart. 

"Ella," whispered Albert Lacy, 
In a pleading voice and low, 

" Have you not a word to offer, 
^ot a smile, before I go ? 

"JSTevermore, beneath these shadows, 
In the evening we shall meet." 

"Albert Lacy," said the maiden^ 
And her tones were music-sweet, 

" You are very rich and noble, 

I am humble as a flower, 
And the hour I chanced to meet you 

Was a sad and fated hour. 

" Once I walked along the meadow, 
When the Summer pinks were there. 

And my footfalls chanced to startle 
From its hiding,-place a hare. 



200 

"Lightly down the path it bounded, 
Pausing oft and looking back, 

And the frailest buds of clover 
Scarcely bent beneath its track. 

" But a wound was in its bosom 
Ere it reached the hedgeing low, 

And it turned its eyes upon me, 
Mutel}' telling of its woe. 

." Soon I looked upon a hunter 

Idly leaning on his gun, 
And he cared not for the anguish 

That his random shot had done. 

"But my eyes with tears were blinded, 

And I sighed, Alas ! alas ! 
As I traced it by the dropping 

Of its blood upon the grass — 

" While the hunter marked the soaring 

Of an eaglet in the sky, 
Caring nothing for the valley 

Where the hare crept on to die. 

" Shyl}' gazed I then upon you. 
Half in love and half in hate, 

Little knowing I was walking 
On the borders of my fate. 



201 

" Had your shot but torn my bosom, 
In that quiet summer's day 

It had been less coldly cruel 
Than to torture life away." 

" Ella Howard ! Ella Howard !" 
Knelt he in the moonlight there, 

"Do not put such cross upon me, 
It is more than I can bear. 

" I have pushed the future from me ; 

Do not look upon me so, 
I have lingered in your presence, 

For I could not bear to 2:0. 



t>' 



" 'Tis my fate that bears me from you, 
Oh, believe me, 'tis not pride, 

And a strange Avild love has charmed me, 
That I could not leave your side. 

" But I lingered, fascinated, 

Elma, as I linger now, 
But the future! Oh the future ! 

T can never break my vow." 

" L eave me, Albert, not in anger, 

JSTot in coldness do we part ; 
Go, in mercy, it were better 

I had looked not in your heart. 



202 

Pressed his lips upon her forehead, 
Looked she on his face so pale; 

Then she listened to the gallop 
Of a steed adown the vale. 

Years have passed since Elma Howard 
Heard the whispered last good-bye ; 

In that first dark hour of sorrow, 
She had almost prayed to die. 

But she calmly took the burden 

Of her life-cross up again, 
Saying softly, " It will cheer me, 

That I did not love in vain. 

" As a rose whose only blossom 

Droi)peth suddenly away. 
Has the love-bloom from my spirit 

Fallen silently this day. 

" Ah, my hopes were ever fettered, 
And my wants were ever small, 

But the future gives no j)romise 
Of the sweetest of them all. 

'' Out upon the troubled waters, 
Faith went flying like a dove. 

Bringing only to my waiting 
Withered blossomings of love. 



208 

'' Yet forgive me, O my Father, 

It was sinful to complain, 
And my earth -love has been worship, 

Let me heavenward look again." 

Went the Summer and the Winter, 
And the Spring-time softly fair, 

And the heart of Ella Howard 
Was uplifted by her prayer. 

By the gloomy couch of sorrow. 
In the death-hour, like a saint, 

Was she found, this earthly angel. 
Giving hope-words to the faint. 

And her face grew bright with beauty, 
Most divinely meek and fair, 

As her pure soul climbed the ladder 
To the atmosphere of prayer. 

And the friends who were about her, 
Those to whom her love was dear, 

Whispered to themselves, " Our sister 
Is too good to linger here. 

'' For her heart is love's pure temple, 

Where the angels enter in, 
And its light should not be darkened 

By the shadowings of sin." 



204 

But they knew not how she wrestled, 
With the thoughts that upward rose 

From the grave where love was sadly 
Coffined down to his repose. 

How one memory, like a phantom. 
Would not always silence keep, 

How one name was sometimes whispered 
Yery softly in her sleep. 

Went the Summer and the Winter, 
And the Spring-time's rosy May, 

Came the Summer and the Winter, 
Till ten years had passed away. 

Then beneath the turf they laid her, 
'Mid the fading Autumn bowers. 

While her spirit had j^ressed upward, 
Like the fragrance of the flowers. 



THE DEUNKAED'S EEMOESE. 

I KNOW that death's river 

Is darksome and wide, 
And yet in my dreaming 

She steals to my side 
With footsteps so noiseless, — 

My beautiful bride. 



205 

Her hand on my forehead 

Is heavy and cold, 
The night dews are soft 

On the tresses of gold, 
And the white robe how icy 

And chilling its fold. 

As a cloud floateth dark, 
On the fair face of night, 

So oft in the morning, 

When sunbeams are bright, 

She glides like a shadow. 
And shuts out the light. 

Oh, sweetly she sleepeth, 

My beautiful one; 
It needeth no marble, 

No rose tree, nor stone, 
To point out the wreck 

Of the heart I've undone. 

The blight of the drunkard — 
The curse of that woe, 

The wild words of sorrow. 
The ebb and the flow 

Of the hopes in her bosom. 
Are haunting me so. 

I look on the wine cup, — 
'Tis tempting and fair, — 



206 

But her eyes' melting glances 
E'en follow me there ; 

And the hands of remorse 
Close the gates of despair. 

I reap but the harvest 
Of thorns I have sown ; 

My bosom is haunted 

With wrongs I have done,— 

For the face is before me 
Whose ruin 1 won. 



WITH THE DEAD. 

When the leaves were growing emerald 

O'er the cottage door, 
And a crown of fragrant blossoms 

All the orchard wore; 
When the lark went singing upward 

To the pale blue sky, 
And the waters burst from bondage, 

With a soft, low cry, — 
Buttercups and violets meekly 

Budded in the dell ; 
There was one I loved beside me — 

One I loved too well. 



207 

When October's sunburnt forehead, 

Shining with the frost, 
Leant uj^on the grave of Summer,— 

Early, early lost, — 
Came I 'neath the blighted branches 

O'er the cottage door; 
Came I listening for the footsteps 

That could come no more. 
" She will never more come to you ; 

She is with the dead ; 
Pale young grasses grow above her. ' 

That was all they said. 

Dead ! so were the Spring-time flowers, 

So the Summer's bloom. 
I sat down and saw the leaflets 

Frosted o'er her tomb; 
I sat there with bitter weeping, 

Daring to complain: — 
" None like her has ever loved me ; 

None will love again; 
Oh, to hear her gentle blessing. 

How my heart hath yearned! 
I had thought that she would meet me 

First, when I returned." 

Came there one and sat beside me 

That Autumnal day, 
And he told me how she faded 

Like a rose away; 



208 

How the tired lids drooped for slumber; 

How her cheek grew thin ; 
How she pined to let the angel — 

Death's pale angel — in. 
"Blessed seraph, free from sorrow, 

Eest thy weary head, 
I will rise and look to heaven." 

That was all I said. 



LYLE. 



Sweet memory, with a painter's art 
Has traced thine image on my heart j 
Thine azure eyes and golden hair, 
Thy sunny face still lingers there. 

I cherish thee so fondly, yet 
Long years have passed since last we mot. 
And left their shadows on thy brow — 
Perchance I should not know thee now. 
And yet, and yet in Beauty's throng 
Mine eyes have sought some fair face long ; 
It seemed like as thine own to me. 
Yet lacked some grace I found in thee. 

And on the street some countenance 
Has thrilled me with a passing glance — 
An azure eye, a tress of gold 
The picture on my heart unrolled. 



209 

I know that I am still the same, 
For if I chance to hear thy name, 
A crimson glow is on my cheek, — 
I sadly smile, but can not speak. 

But when alone, how sweet to look 
Within my heart as in a book, 
And slowly, pensively to trace 
Each feature of thy lovely face. 

I would not from that picture part 
For all the costly gems of art ; 
For memory's pencil true and fair 
Traced thy sweet face so perfect there. 



TO MAEY. 



A GLORIOUS host of gentle stars 

Are peeping from the blue sky's breast, 
Long lines of clouds like golden bars. 

Have paled to white along the west, 
And every breeze that fans my brow. 

Or softly stirs the fading leaves, 
Brings thee in fancy to me now. 

Upon these wild Autumnal eves. 

I wandered this October day, 

Strayed in a pleasant, saddened dream, 
Into the wild-wood far away. 

By sloping hill and rippling stream. 

18 



210 

The sky above was mild and clear, 
Pale crimson haze concealed the blue, 

And through the smoky atmosphere 
The faded woods were sad to view. 

I sat me down awhile to think 

Of many by-gone pleasant hours, 
And thought by thought began to link 

A wreath of beauty like the flowers. 
'Twas then thy name returned to me, 

Like gentle bird to evening nest, 
Of all my love had been to thee. 

Of all thy love which made me blest. 

And now, this glorious Autumn night, 

Fair as an eve in lovely June, 
A message to thy heart I write. 

Beneath the tissue of the moon. 
Dear one, if angels ever come 

From their sweet homes of light above, 
Oh ! hover round my heart and home, 

And bathe my brow with drops of love. 

Art thou not here? — for oh ! my heart 
Throbs with such perfect peace to-night. 

And busy fancy makes me start, 
I seem to hear thy footsteps light. 

Blest presence — oh ! to feel, to know 
That angel comforters are given. 



211 

In every hour of earthly woe, 

To lift our hearts to [wpe and heaven ! 

Bright, lost one, thou art surely here, 

Thy love within my spirit shines ; 
Thy gentle voice I seem to hear 

In each lute breeze that stirs the vines, 
And murmuring music sweet and soft 

Comes to m^- ear in cadence light ; 
'Tis this that lifts my soul aloft, 

And makes thee seem so near to-night. 

Oh ! canst thou read my thoughts, my love. 

My joys and sorrows canst thou know ? 
In thy bright home of peace above. 

Canst sympathize with mortal's woe ? 
I know not — 'tis enough to feel, 

When tears of sorrow dim mine eyes. 
Thy presence o'er my soul can steal 

Like morning's blush o'er darkened skies. 

Xow one by one the bright stars set, 

The moonlight falls less brilliantly, 
The night is wearing by, and yet 

My heart is blessed with dreams of thee. 
Adieu ! and while I journey on 

My earthly path of doubts and fears. 
At holy eve or morning's dawn, 

Be thou the •" angel of my years." 



212 



THE SPIEIT'S TEYST. 

Day, wrapped in robes of pink and gold, 

Hath slowly gone to rest ; 
Three fleecy clouds their wings unfold 

And sail athwart the west — 
And earth and sky and all I see, 

Are very beautiful to me. 

And now mine eyes are raised above — 

Through ether waves afar, 
My spirit flies like JS^oah's dove. 

To yonder glittering star; 
Though thousands gem the tranquil sky, 

I see but one — Oh, tell me why? 

The rainbows rise o'er memory's mist. 

In colors clear and free — 
That star, it is our spirit's tryst, 

'Tis there I meet with thee ; 
When evening phantoms slowly rise. 

And night lifts up her large black eyes. 

I meet thee there, not as we meet 

Upon the earth below, 
But in a spirit union sweet. 

On spirit wings of snow; 
And there as balmy hours depart, 

As open book I read thy heart. 



213 

Dear place of tryst, sweet star of love, 
Thy glorious eyes shall shine. 

In their pure Eden home above, 
When closed in dust are mine : 

Nor wilt thou miss the last farewell 
Of one who loves thee, Oh, how well. 

And thou, dear "kindred sj:)irit," thou 
To whom my thoughts are given. 

If sweet are spirit meetings now. 
What shall they be in heaven — 

Where time nor change nor death resists. 
The never broken spirit trysts. 



EEYISITATIOIS". 



I HAVE rambled out in the woods to-day — 

The old woods dark with leaves. 
Where the lute-like notes of the zephyrs play. 

And the lark his matin weaves. 
I sat again in our trysting seat. 

With the grape vines wreathed across — 
There were flowers with blue eyes at my feet, 

And cups of the dew-bright moss. 

I could see the shining waters plash. 

As the river sang its song. 
And at times I caught the whirl and flash 

As bird wings swept along. 



214 

The willows threw their golden hair 
To the sunbeam's softened glow, 

And nameless flowers on the grccn-sward there 
Swayed softly to and fro. 

I missed thee there. I saw the roof 

Of our okl home o'er the hill, 
And through the sunbeam's shining woof, 

The blue smoke curling still ; 
But I know that strangers dwell there now, 

And the vines around the door 
Droop on thy curls and sunny brow. 

Sweet lost one, never more. 

1 sat in our dear old trysting-seat, 

And thought of the days gone by,— 
Ob, life has lost its sweetest sweet 

When the dew of the heart grows dry. 
'Tis not when the hair is mixed with gray, 

And three score years are told, 
But in a single hour or day 

We feel that we are old. 

Oh, when the hopes to which we clung 

In a single hour have died — 
When closed is the eye and mute the tongue 

Of a loved one at our side. 
Our lips maybe like roses bright, 

Yet the heart, a withered thing. 
Nor years mav weave the shattered lio-ht. 

Nor the solace of Lethe bring. 



215 

I sat ill our trysting-seat to-day, 

And thought upon thy rest, 
'No cares may pierce the roof of cLay 

That lies above thy breast. 
Oh, thou hast gone in the light of youth 

To the rest of the peaceful fold. 
With a child-like soul and a lip of truth, 

Where the heart can ne'er grow cold. 



A PEOPHECY. 



The gloaming glistens with its gold. 
And soft clouds travel o'er the sky; 

Day goeth sadly to the fold 

Of evening's pearly arms to die. 

Like harp -notes from another clime, 
There comes a whisper low and sweet, 

Which tells me in some future time, ^ 
We, who have loved so, yet may meet. 

A strange, wild prophecy is mine, 
A fearful power upon me lies ; 

Oh, I shall clasp those hands of thine. 
And look again into thine eyes. 

Not where the purple light of noon 
Shimmers upon the homestead walls ; 

Not where the bees their bugles tune. 
And the wild ring-dove sadly calls. 



216 

Not where the water-lilies grow, 
Beside the river wide and deep ; 

Not where the wild pink roses blow, 
And moss and pensive ivy creep. 

Not where the orchard blooms drift down, 
In every breath of moving air ; 

Oh, never more thy locks I'll crown, 
And clasp thy snowy fingers there ; 

But, upward as I lift my eye. 

And upward as my heart doth beat. 

With solemn voice I prophecy. 

We two shall meet, we yet shall meet — 

Meet in a land of fadeless bloom, 
Meet in a land of endless rest ; 

Thou shalt go downward to the tomb, 
Thy white hands folded on thy breast. 

I, too, shall slumber as at night, 

I, too, shall fold my pulseless hands ; 

And then when comes the morning light. 
We shall awake in better lands. 

Pray for the morning, i^ray with faith, 
Such prayers are never said in vain ; 

That on the ebon shores of death. 
We who have loved may meet again. 



21' 



Along the soul's electric wire, 
Thrills out an answer to my cry : 

'• It shall be as thou dost desire, 
For when one dieth both shall die.'" 



THE FIRST ROSE OF SUMMER. 

'Tis the first sw^eet rose of Summer. 

Love, I send it unto thee ; 
May it wake a pleasant memory 

In thy gentle heart of me : 
See, the smile of fair Aurora 

Lingers yet upon its brow, 
And the pink upon its bosom 

Tells of Zephj'r's ardent vow. 

Grew^ it by my cottage window^, 

Ah, I watched it day by day. 
As the Spring with sweet coquetting 

Toyed the golden hours away ; 
But when young June, draped in sunbeams, 

Dew pearls 'round her shining hair, 
Floated o'er the emerald meadows, 

Like a lark upon the air : 

Stooped she to the rose and kiss'd her, 
And with sw^eet and coy surprise. 



19 . 



218 

Blushing like a modest maiden, 
Opened she her dewy eyes : 

Heard she then the gentle music 
Of the birds upon the trees, 

And the lute-strings of Eolus 
Filled her heart with harmonies. 

'Tis the first sweet rose of Summer ; 

When its crimson leaflets fade, 
Let it be with thy heart treasures 

Like a Avaif from childhood laid ; 
Let it sj)cak with that soft odor 

That shall linger in its heart. 
Of my constant, pure affection, 

As the months and years depart. 

If, perchance, the hands that culled it, 

E'er another June, shall be 
Slowly turning into ashes, 

Down beneath the churchyard tree ; 
Still, oh still, in silent language, 

Let it tell with fragrant breath, 
Of the love that aye hath lasted. 

True in life and strong in death. 



219 



EMMA. 

They tell me the blossoms 
Are bright on her breast; 

That down by the river 
They laid her to rest, 

'Mid the birds, and the bees. 
And the scenes she loved best. 

Perchance they speak truly, 

But I can not see 
The clay mound o'er her 

Who was dearest to me — 
I dare not go down 

To her grave on the lea. 

I can not forget her ; 

Why should I go there ? 
She haunteth me ever ; 

Nor fasting, nor prayer, 
Can drive her sweet face 

From my path everywhere. 

I dare not go down 

To her low grave, to-night ; 
She would rise up before me, 

In raiment of white : 
Her head on my shoulder 

Would rest like a blight, 



220 

I could but remember 
The sweet moments fled, 

I could but remember 
The vows I have said ; 

Oh, I could not forget 
My Avrong to the dead. 

I wooed and I won her, 
Then bade her farewell ; 

I tore her sweet love 

From my heart's inmost cell, 

But ne'er found another 
To love me so well. 

[ tried to forget her. 

But all was in vain. 
Like a star on my pathway 

She rose wp again : — 
"Why should I remember 

When memory is pain ? 

She died, and the light 
"Went out from my way . 

She died, as a flower, 
At the last sight of day: 

Life's fruits are but ashes. 
For Memory will stay. 



221 

AN AUTUMNAL EHYME. 

Now, when the brown locks of October 

Are white with the frost, 
My heart goeth back, like a pilgrim, 

To Autumns long lost. 

'Tis not that the dreamy night-shadows 

Eest soft on my brow, 
That on the wild billows of passion, 

My heart rocketh now. 

"Tis not that the sweet lips around me. 

Are brimful of tune. 
For I would go out from this gladness 

Alone to commune. 

And through the dim eyes of remembrance, 

I fondly would gaze. 
Away in the love-haunted distance 

Of dim yesterdays. 

I see by the white-sanded river, 

With tears in my eyes, 
A calm home, quiet and holy, 

Before me arise. 

The ruddy light lies on the shutters, 

And closed is the door, 
For she who once sat b}^ the hearth-stone, 

Will be there no more. 



The asters rise up in the garden, 

In blue and in red ; 
In every nook golden with sunshine, 

Sleep Summer's young dead. 

Anon I can hear in the pauses 

Of doves as they call, 
Away in the gloom of the orchard, 

The ripe apj^les fall. 

And then 1 go up to the maple, 

That stands on the hill. 
And there is the place where my heart-strings 

All painfully thrill. 

For there, in the quiet October, 

They laid one away, 
Whose little grave folds a black curtain 

All over the day. 

And once more I gaze on the cottage. 

The room where she died, 
And every path where I have rambled 

With her by my side. 

In orchard, and meadow, and garden. 

Wherever I rove. 
Her meek eyes are gazing upon me, 

With looks full of love. 



Oh, when the brown locks of October 

Are white Avith the frost, 
My heart goeth back, like a pilgrim, 



To Autumns long lost. 



For often the star-shining curtains 

Are softly let down. 
And blessings descend on ray forehead, 

And rest like a crown. 

This is why I go out in my sadness, 

And earnestly gaze 
Away to the love-haunted distance 

Of dim yesterdays. 



THE DESERTEE. 

" Did she breathe a prayer for me? 

Speak my name when dying? " 
Yes : while snows were on the roof, 

And the winds were crj'ing, 
Shone her fading eyes with love, 

As if light were sliding 
From the rainbow arch above, 

Heaven and earth dividing. 
Then she breathed a prayer for thee. 

Low, and soft, and tender, 
In a tone like some sweet lute, 

Light, and sweet, and slender. 



224 

" Did she whisper of the j)ast ? 

Did it thrill her dying? " 
Yes : thy babe, in gentle sleep, 

On her breast was lying ; 
"Bring," she said, "my wedding veil. 

Bring me every token, 
Every link of that sweet chain. 

By the rum-fiend broken." 
Then her voice grew weak and low, 

While the tears were streamins: ; 

"Tell him, I have loved him so," 

Said she. as if dreaming. 

" Did she miss me ? Did she seek 

For my kiss in dying? " 
Yes: when drops of chilly dew, 

On hor brow were lying. 
Said she, " Would that he were hero ; 

Would that I might bless him ; 
Tell him, I was constant yet, 

Fain would now caress him ; 
Tell him that through every ill, 

Till my life was over, 
I did love him, as when first 

I had called him lover." 

"Tell me," said the wretched man. 

" Every word she uttered. 
While her heart, like prisoned bird, 

In its meshes fluttered ; — 



225 

Spake she of a cottage home, 

By a sunny river ? 
Of a dell, where vows were said 

Binding loved ones ever? 
Of the gleaming gates of pearl, 

Where no ties are broken. 
And the words of tears and death 

Never more are spoken ? 

'<■ Did she speak of no hard word, 

Of no blow, in dying?'' 
No : she said, " He loved me once ; 

Would that I were lying 
With my head where I could hear 

His dear heart a throbbing." 
Then her voice grew indistinct, 

Yery low, and sobbing, 
And the baby's lips she kissed, 

As it smiled in sleeping ; — 
Angels bore her to the rest 

Where there's no more weeping. 



THE BBOTHERS. 

They parted coldly, parted foes, 

With anger flashing from their eyes - 

One sought a home 'mid northern snows, 
And one where rich magnolias rise. 



22G 

They parted coldly, who had slept 
On one soft pillow, side by side ; 

They crushed the love each heart had kept, 
And cast the treasures far and wide. 

Yet often in the twilight still, 

A thousand memories would arise ; 

Their childhood home, beside the hill, 
Floating in beauty by their eyes. 

And each would see his brother's face. 
And each would feel the lost one dear; 

Yet were the hands too proud to trace 
The words each brother pined to hear. 

And thus they lived, and thus they died ; 

Each longed the lost place to regain : 
Each standing on the walls of pride, 

Afraid to push them down again. 

And thus they died, who loved so well. 
And each believed the other foe — 

One slept where southern roses fell, 
And one beneath a mound of snow. 



227 



A DEEAM OF THE PAST. 

Oh ! I have been roaming, this dear April day, 

To the years that so sweetly have faded away, 

To the joy and the light and the music-tuned flow 

That were ever about me a long time ago. 

I am back, I am back to my home by the stream ; 

'Tis surely no fancy, 'tis surely no dream ; 

But I stand 'neath the jasmine that climbs o'er the 

door, 
And ]^ellie is with me, dear Xellie, once more. 

We'll away to the sunlight of that quiet mead, 
Where the clover-buds open their sweet lips of red ; 
To the woodlands so green, where the bright 

waters creep, 
And in cradles of lilies^the bees rock to sleep. 

So N'ellie, sweet Nellie, ere yon fleecy cloud 
Links hands with the sister that near it is bowed, 
AYe'U away, in our gladness, with laughing and 

song. 
And the hours shall fly swiftly as young birds 

along. 

'Tis faded, all faded, — the picture so bright, 

It hath gone like a star from the bosom of night; 

That home by the rill is away, far away ; 

There are others beneath the sweet jasmine, to-day. 



228 

The meadow, the woodland, the dell, and the 

flowers, 
The birds, and the trees, and the musical hours, 
Of that sweet long ago are all faded away. 
Like the iris, too lovely, too lovely to stay. 

But not for the birds and the blossoms I weep, 

But Nellie, sweet Xellie, she, too, is asleep ; 

On her fair cheek of rose the dark lashes press 

down, 
Aiul the golden-hued locks have the dust for a 

crown. 

And tiie white waxen hands that oft pressed me 

of 5"ore, 
Will throb to the thrill of a pulse never more. 
Oh ! not for the birds and the blossoms I weep ; 
I am sobbing for Nellie, she, too, is asleep. 



A WHISPEEED WAEJSTING. 

God save thee, dear one ! thrills my heart with 

fear 
For thine own precious sake. Put down the cup ! 
Its beaded rim should never kiss thy lips — 
Those rosy lips whose full, dark cherry red 
From honeyed blossoms well might tempt the bee 
To come and taste their sweetness. Art thou safe? 
I know not how to answer. 



229 

The wild bird 
May hover o'er the net, and yet escape 
To charm the ear with singing ; the shy fawn 
May rest its dainty limbs and fall asleep 
Beneath the dingle's foliage, while, near by, 
Some savage beast is bellowing on the winds, 
Hungry for blood ; and yet awake in time 
To gain the distant valley. The fair child 
May walk along a deep, black j^recipice 
And gather flowers, the while the glistening sands 
Shelve out 'neath every footfall, and yet be 
Sleeping secure in its own bed, at night, 
Without a shadowed dream. 

And so may'st thou 
Walk with a smile along the fearful pit 
Bridged o'er with blossoms, listening to the song 
Whose syren tones have drawn so many down 
To the deep grave of Death ; and yet escape — 
But, oh the fearful chances ! 

M}^ true friend, 
For love's sweet sake, beware ! Thy noble step 
Must never be unsteady ; thy dark eyes, 
Whose glances thrill the heart, must never glare 
With bloodshot brightness. Thine alluring voice, 
So deep and passionate, and so music-like 
In eloquence sublime, must never grow 
Hoarse with the serpent's sting. 



230 

To think of tiiec — 
Perfection's fair ideal realized — 
Falling within the pit where Eiiin sits 
Feeding upon her victims day and night, 
Is more than heart can bear. Frown not, my 

friend. 
And say thou art secure. I fear for thee 
"With a most jealous fear, and with a heart 
Filled to the brim with prayer, I ask for thee — 
While the blue sky is blazoned o'er with stars, 
AVliile the white moon is softly sinking down 
Into her dewy bed of amethyst — 
Strength to resist temj^tation. 

O'er thy heart 
Love's angel keeps her vigil. A soft hand, 
Light as a seraph's, leads thee on thy way ; 
And may that way be pleasant as the path 
Of velvet mosses in the meadow-land 
Where runs the summer rill, until each wave 
Eepeats, in whispered ripples, syllables 
Of many a wordless poem, low and soft. 
Heard by the shy young birds and drowsy bees, 
And danced to bj* the zephyrs. 



231 



GOOD BYE. " 



" But give to me when loved ones part, 
The gentle word, good bye." 

The word farewell burst fi'om thy lips, 

Checked by the rising sigh ; 
My heart was then too full for words, 

And I could not make reply ; 
For I pondered o'er in our parting hour, 

The weary days of pain, 
Of change and sorrow, perchance of death. 

Ere we should meet again. 



And I heard thee speak, " farewell, farewell," 

That voice e'en now is nigh ; 
My heart kept whispering all the while, 

" Good bye, beloved, good bye." 

Farewell, how dirge-like was the tone, 

How mighty in its power ; 
It fell upon m}^ heart as falls 

The frost upon the flower. 
Oh, oft I think of our parting, now, 

When none but my God is nigh, 
I hear thee sigh, "farewell, farewell," 

While I falter out "good bye." 

Good bye — yes, in that little word 
There seems a magic spell. 



232 



Tliat whimpers, - Yc shall meet again, 

This is no last farewell ; " 
And the words I ponder o'er again 

Till echo makes reply, 
" The time shall come when ye shall meet, 

No more to say good bye." 

And oft in the silence of the night, 

Thy gentle presence beams 
Like a star in heaven, and thou art near, 

In the " glorious land of dreams ;" 
I listen then to thy sad farewell, 

And falter out reply, 
''Oh we shall meet again, my love, 

This is no last ' good bye.' " 



AN HOUE OF PEACE. 

AN EXTRACT. 

The fair, the lovely world ! — methinks, to-day, 

There is a brightness in the placid skies, 

But this sweet hour revealed. I know not why 

Such strange and wild emotions rock my head 

To tones I never, never heard before. 

Oh, there are hours when angels take our hands, 

And lead us through fair valleys where the light 

Shines like a prism, hours when the cares of earth 

Roll from our spirits as the sullen mists 

Of early morn before the King of Bay. 

So it is now; and my unfettered soul 



233 

Eises on white wings far above the glooms 
Of ebon night, where sometimes we do grope, 
With no faith arm to lean on. This sweet hour, 
Life seems so good a blessing, earth the gate 
Half opened into Eden. Many a time 
Mine eyes have looked upon this very scene: 
The quiet valley, where the meadow larks 
Start singing upward from the ^vaves of grass, 
Their light wings moist with dew ; the tiny rill. 
Plashing along the stones ; the woodland deep,. 
Whose sweet-lipped leaves keep whispering to tlie 

winds ; 
The emerald hills, the snowy village spires. 
And cottage roof half shadowed o'er with leaves, 
All form a pleasant picture ; oft my eyes. 
Have grown half dim while gazing on the scene. 
But never till this hour my heart hath throbb'd 
With every pulse a rapture, not till now 
Has such pure incense floated like a cloud 
From my heart's altar, as I offered thanks 
To the good God that he hath made the world 
So fair a place to tarry, the brief while 
That he hath made us pilgrims going home. 



TO MES. J M M . 

When my pathway led through vallej's, 

Where the meek-eyed daisies grew; 

When I rested on the mosses, 

Braiding violets of blue, 
20 



234 

Listening to the breeze that fingered 

Softly his delightful lyre ; 
When I rambled through the wild-wood 

With a step that did not tire ; 
When I sought the lark's low pillow 

In the dewy, grassy glen — 
Oh, that I had met thee, dear one ; 

Oh, that I had met thee then. 

Now, when all the world seems darker. 

Far less lovely, than of old ; 
When I see the cloud, but can not 

Trace its under-tints of gold ; 
Now, when confidence is broken, 

When I fear to love and trust ; 
AVhen I find the world's affection, 

Frail and perishing as dust; 
When the tempest blows about me 

Till my soul must almost bow, — 
Oh, for thy true heart to love me — 

Would that I could meet thee now. 

In that world that shines above us. 

Where all tears are wiped away ; 
In that world to which our spirits 

Soar on prayer-wings, day by day ; 
By the tree of life, sweet sister, 

In green pastures, fair and bright, 
Where the pure and meek-eyed angels 

Rest upon their wings of white, — 



235 

If we meet here never, never, 
' Tis my earnest, faithful prayer, 

That, when this short life is over, 
I shall meet thee, meet thee there. 



COME WHEX THE BIRDS SIXG." 

When the light-hearted Spring-, 

All the glad hours, 
Plants by each leaflet's grave, 

Pale little flowers ; 
When pinky buds, with dew 

Shrined in each heart, 
Blow, in the gentle winds, • 

Softly apart ; 
When, in each trembling urn, 

Honey-bees hum ; 
When to each mossy nook. 

Blue-birds are come ; 
When, in the sunny light. 

Green branches wave, — 
Come then and sit awhile. 

Close by my grave. 

When the long, golden days 

Of the bright June, 
Pass in their beauty by, 

Brimful of tune ; 



236 

When from his breezy nest, 

Springeth the lark ; 
When the young nightingale 

Sings through the dark ; 
When from the cloister deej), 

Of the dim west, 
Cometh the maiden moon, 

Pearls on her breast, — 
Then, with a hopeful heart, 

Come to my side ; 
Only a little while 

Death can divide. 

When, with her placid brow 

Twined with rij^e wheat, 
Cometh the Autumn mild — 

Fruits at her feet, 
Give not a single sigh 

To Autumn's last — 
Let not a mournful thought 

Come with the past ; 
Let not a single tear 

Eest on thy cheek ; 
Not one wild, bitter word 

Let thy lips speak. 
Li that most holy time. 

Best of the year, 
When the heart's waters gush 

Sparkling and clear ; 
When precious thoughts and true 

Come to us oft, 



237 

Soaring, like thistle-down, 

Lightly aloft — 
Then, through the misty gold, 

Look thou on high ; 
Train every wayward thought 

Up to the sky. 



THE SUMMEE FLOWEES. 

They have passed away from the vale and hill, 
From the woodland shades, from the dancing rill— 
They have passed away in the Autumn's breath, 
They ai-e sleeping now, in the sleep of death. 

In the sunny breath of the early Spring, 
AYhat a host of flowers did the fair one bring ; 
How she cast them round by every tree. 
On the hill, on the vale, o'er the grassy lea. 

Oh ! some were touched with a rosy hue, 
Some seemed to have caught the sky's deep blue. 
And some peeped forth in a snowy white, 
And some in a paly golden light. 

, They w^ere a fragile race of flowers. 
They passed away in the Spring-time hours, 
'Mid the rainbow smiles of an April day. 
And the sunbeams soft of the joyous May. 



238 

Then, in the long, bright, sunny hours 

Of the laughing June, came a wealth of flowers — 

Sweet roses o^ every tint and hue, 

Were breathing perfume from the evening dew. 

Then came a change in the long, cold night ; 
There fell from the sky a death-like blight. 
And in the early morning hours, 
The dew-drops were turned to frost on the flowers. 

They have passed away from the vale and hill. 
Prom the woodland shades, from the laughing rill ; 
They have passed away from the Summer bowers, 
That gentle race of the lovely flowers. 



THE TEMPERxVNCE AEMY. , 

Not with the cannon's thunder, 

Not with the gleaming spear, 
Not with the bomb-shell's booming, 

And the war-cry loud and clear ; 
Not to the sound of music. 

Nor to the beat of the drum — 
We come not to the battle 

As angered warriors come. 

We come with strong hearts throbbing 
For the cause of Truth and Eight — 

'Tis a holy watchword, sounding 
From heart to heart to-night; 



239 

To whisper of hope to the saddened, 
To lift to the light the weak, 

To call the degraded, Brother, 
To brighten the haggard cheek. 

Death ! death ! to the crested serpent ! 

War ! war ! on the curse of rum ! 
From mountain to valley the watchword 

Eepeat, till our lips are dumb. 
Follow the trail of the monster, 

Track him through forest and glen, 
Hunt him wherever he hideth — 

Stab him to death in his den ! 



Hath he not murdered our mothers, 

Brought their gray locks to the tomb? 
Hath he not murdered our brothers, 

Yet in their manhood's bloom ? 
Hath he not coiled on our hearthstones. 

Hissing Avith Upas breath ? — 
On ! on to the warfare, brothers ! 

Nor cease till he writhes in death. 

Arm for the battle of glory ! 

Strike for the cause of Truth ! 
Fathers, with locks so hoary, 

Sons, in the bloom of youth. 
Mothers, and sisters, and daughters, 

With your prayers and blessings, come ! 
Death ! death ! wherever he lurketh, 

To the serpent whose name is Rum ! 



240 



HAUNTED. 

Blow, west winds, blow away my tears 
As clouds from stars, and let me see 

If, in the deep rej)ose of 3'cars, 

She's sleeping still beneath the tree. 

For sometimes, when the winds arc strongs 
Tearing the leaves of red and gold, 

The voice, that had been mute so long. 
Speaks in a whisjDcr tliick and cold. 

I strain mine eyes to look, to-night, 
If haply, 'neatl>the misty stars, 

I see her shroud, so still and white. 
Flaring beneath the windy bars. 

For foes have said she doth not sleep 
Serenely in the grave's black fold. 

That injured ghosts come back to keep 
The life-blood running quick and cold. 

What time the round moon goeth down. 
And midnight's wierd, wild phantoms rise, 

She twines about my brow a crown 
Of serpents, with their blood-red eyes. 

I feel her soft hand's pressure light — 
My henvt stops beating, mute with fears 



241 

And ceaseless, on my pillow white, 
I hear the dropping of her tears. 

The morn comes on, the blossoms hold 
On her low grave their cups of dew ; 

I see no opening in the fold 

Of the green turf to let her through. 

Blow, west winds, blow away my tears 
As clouds from stars, and answer me : 

Is it but conscience, wild with fears, 
Conjures the phantom that I see? 



A MEMOKY. 



Like a bird to southern clime, 

Memory loves to go 
To a sweet Autumnal time 

Many years ago. 
Winds were chanting mournful rhyme 

Musical and low, 
In that sweet Autumnal time, 

Many years ago ! 

Not the frost-work, like a crown 

Eesting on the bowers ; 
Not the ripe fruit dropping down 

All the luscious hours ; 
21 



242 

Not the leaflets red and brown 

Ticking on the bowers, 
Gave the world its beauty crown 

Those Autumnal hours. 

When the west wind's mournful moan 

Floated o'er the hill, 
One was with me, whose dear tone 

Made my heart-strings thrill. 
Oft, and oft when all alone. 

Comes that lost voice still ; 
Oft and oft that dreaming tone 

Makes my heart-strings thrill. 

Ah ! that early love was told 

Many years ago ; 
Those sweet lips are white and cold 

As the winter's snow: 
And my heart for aye must hold 

Many waves of woe, 
For the lips as white and cold 

As the deep, deep snow ! 



I KNOW NOT WHEKE THOU AKT." 

I KNOW not where thou art, — 

Day follows weary day, 
Melting the fragrance from my heart 

In bitterness away. 



243 

I hear the tones I heard 

In other days, and yet 
I list in vain for one dear word : 

And can'st thou, too, forget? 

I know not where thoii art, — 

I seek thee like a dove, 
And yet my weary, bleeding heart 

Finds no sweet ark of love. 
I roam o'er mountains blue. 

And o'er the moaning sea, 
In spirit saying, "Art thou true? " 

No answer comes to me. 

I ask the breeze that shakes 

The alders o'er the rill, 
If it hath met thee, but it makes 

A sadder music still. 
I ask the birds that fly 

On w^hite wings from the west: 
They pause not for my tearful eye. 

They bring no waif of rest. 

I know not where thou art, — 

It may be thou art dead. 
That western flowers with dewy heart 

Drop tears upon thy head ; 
And yet, if it were so, 

Thy soul would give to me 
Some sweet, fond word, that I might know, 

If I was dear to thee. 



244 

And thus life passes on ; 

The world no more is bright — 
The evening stars, the early dawn 

Seem only sable night. 
I know not where thou art ; 

And, weary day -by-day 
Crushes life's blossoms from my heart, 

A withered mass, away. 



OCTOBEE. 



Ah ! Sweetest month of all the year. 
Thy sober footstep now is here, 
Thy quiet hours so calm, so dear, 

Are with us now again. 
I love thy woods, I love thy skies. 
Thy murmuring breeze that restless sighs, 
Thy gorgeous leaves of many dyes 

That fall in wood and glen. 

I love to ramble in thy woods, 

To seek thy lonely solitudes. 

Where nought but nature's step intrudes 

Upon the stillness round ; 
To watch the warring of the trees. 
To hear the sighing of the breeze 
As if its dirge-like melodies. 

Some answ'ring soul had found. 



245 

I love thy rills that float in light, 

Whose waves reflect the day-beams bright, 

And the blue starry vault of night 

That brightly glows on high ; 
I love to watch their wanderings, too, 
Gliding by mosses gemmed with dew. 
By nooks where flowers of paly hue 

Still smile unconsciously. 

October, charmed with many a grace, 

I love the smiling of thy face, 

I love each hill, each grove, each place 

Which tells that thou art near; 
Thy skies are veiled in smoky veil, 
Thy clouds are tinged with crimson pale, 
And heaven and earth repeat the tale, 

" October fair is here." 

Fair month, so pensive, calm and mild, 
Thou ever hast my soul beguiled, 
I've loved thee even from a child 

Of footstep wild and free ; 
When life's bright path was gemmed with flowers, 
When Hope's bird sung in joys pure bowers, 
Then were thy hours, thy pensive hours, 

Most dear, most dear to me. 

Yes, bright October, thou art dear. 
The sweetest month of all the year, 
Time, with his never checked career, 
Must bear thee soon away ; 



24G 



Yet still within my heart shall rise, 
Sweet memories of thy shadowy skies, 
Thy gorgeous leaves of many dyes, 
For many a future day. 



FALSE. 

" I've been in the world, 

And my heart hath grown cold ; 
I love thee no more 

As I loved thee of old. 
I could list to the songs 

That once moved me to tears, 
Without a heart-thrill, 

For those long-buried years. 
I could roam in strange lands. 

And my soul never yearn 
For the ' light of the days 

That can never return.' 

" I could sit on the banks 

Of our old trysting-stream, 
And of thy lost whispers 

Have never a dream. 
I could gather wild roses. 

So fragile and fair. 
Nor dream of the garlands 

I wove for thy hair. 
I could pass by the elm, 



247 

With its mosses o'ergrown, 
And stop not to read 

The dear name 'neath my own. 

" Oh, start not ! reprove not ! 

Thy troth thou hast kept; 
Like a dove in thy bosom 

In peace it hath slept. 
I know I am dearer 

Than others to thee ; 
I know how unworthy, 

How faithless I be. 
I know that thy heart 

Never changed or grew cold ; 
Forgive me, I love thee 

No more as of old." 

Oh ! gaily the honest 

Confession was made : 
The youth felt the head 

On his false bosom laid, 
Slide down to his knee. 

And the slight little form 
Thrilled, swayed as a primrose 

In some sudden storm. 
With the vows of a moment 

He strove to recall 
The spirit that gave 

To affection its all. 



248 

But all was in vain — 

In day and in night, 
In silence and darkness, 

In joy and in light, 
Henceforth he walked never. 

Oh ! never alone ; 
For a form kept its shadow 

In one with his own, 
And anon, through the rustle 

Of shroud and of mold 
Came the voice, " Yet I love thee 

As fond as of old." 



THE MEADOW RILL. 

Oh, the waves so bright, the waves so bright, 

Of the dancing, shining brook. 
As they tinkle and tinkle in very glee, 

And ripple through every nook — 
Over the stones all smooth and brown, 

Where the sunbeams flash across — 
Down where the " nun-like lilies " stand, 
'Mid the dewy cups of moss. 

Oh, the sparkling rill, the sparkling rill, 
Its low, soft murmurs, its fairy tones. 
My heart with gladness fill. 

The merry rill, the meadow rill. 
How pure in the light of day ; 



'J4U 

How its waves reflect the sunny leaves, 

And glide all bright away. 
And the gentle wind, with its lips so sweet, 

How it plays with the grassy edge, 
And wafts bright blossoms upon its brow, 
From the fragrant hawthorne hedge. 
O meadow rill, O gentle rill, 

The' friends may frown, in thy bright face 
There lingers sunlight still. 

And, oh, at night, when the stars shine out. 

It mirrors their angel eyes. 
And glances up like a wondering child, 

To the far-off azure skies ; 
And the pale, pale moon, as she moves along, 

Like a mourner, sad and slow ; 
Oh, she little thinks what a wealth of crowns 
She gives to the waves below. 

Oh, the musical rill, as it glides along, 

It fills my heart with a rapture thrill. 
And my lips with a gush of song. 



LINES TO 



Not a throb disturbs my bosom, not a breath of 

passion's flame 
Glows upon my spirit's embers, at the mention of 

thy name : 



250 

My heart is like a wild bird — unfettered, glad, 

and free, 
And not a chord within my breast now vibrates 

unto thee. 

Once thy cherished name was to me like the dew 

unto the flower, 
And thy presence was the sunlight of life's most 

cheerless hour ; 
My heart was e'er turned toward thee like the 

needle to the pole ; 
Thy words were then the music — the charm that 

bound my soul. 

Oh! often did I listen to thy fond impassioned 

words, 
They fell in untold sweetness upon my spirit's 

chords. 
They woke the slumbering feelings that powerless 

lay there. 
And gave to life its brightness — they made my 

pathway fair. 

But Time, the mightiest conqueror along life's 

broken range. 
Upon our hearts relentless has cast the veil of 

change ; 
I little thought his power could do for us what it 

has done ; 
Our paths of life are parted now, those paths 

whicli loi7£f were one. 



251 

Years have gone and brought their changes — thy 

spell for aye is o'er, 
Thou rulest with a tyrant's sway my captive 

heart no more ; 
That heart which once was fettered in chains of 

love for thee, 
Has cast those chains forever off, and now is 

wildly free. 

Yet I sometimes muse upon thee, I call thy face 

to sight, 
I ponder o'er thy features, thy polished brow of 

light. 
Thine eyes that beamed with pleasure, or flashed 

with passion's fire, 
And blessed thoughts of other days flash* up from 

memory's lyre. 

Then for awhile thou rulest this captive throbbing 

heart. 
But I break the veil through which I look, and 

see thee as thou art ; 
And without a throb of sorrow, a feeling of regret, 
I say 'tis well we're parted — 'tis well we could 

forget. 

Forget! ah, withered, faded, is love's own bloom- 
ing wreath. 

Each fragrant, glowing blossom has closed its 
leaves in death ; 



252 

No fragrance round those folded leaves in balmy- 
odors clings, 

Save some sweet breath which, now and then, the 
spell of memory brings. 

Ah, yes, my love is over, and till this life shall 

end, 
I will think of thee with coldness, and give thee 

name of friend ; 
And whisper to my careless heart, nnmingled 

with regret, 
'Tis well our paths were parted, 'tis well we could 

forget. 



LOYE IS NOT FOE ME 

I MAY win gold, its brightness 

"With gems may deck my hair, 
Wear robes whose gorgeous luster 

Is beautiful and fair. 
My home with regal splendor 

Adorned may ever be, — 
It will not ease the heart-ache. 

For love is not for me. 

I may win fame, her trumpet 
May sound my humble name. 

My cheek be flushed with triumph. 
My heart will be the same. 



253 

The quiet hour will haunt me, 

Wherever I may he ; 
A voice forever taunt me, 

For love is not for me. 

I may be gay, my footsteps 

Be ever with the glad, 
And none that mark my smiling, 

Believe the heart is sad. 
And I may gather honey 

From every flower I see, 
As if my way were pleasant, 

Tho' love is not for me. 

Oh life most drear and barren, 

Alas, that in my heart 
Such yearnings for aifection 

Like fountain waves up start. 
Alas, that in its darkness. 

Wherever I may be, 
This thought must still pursue me. 

Oh, love is not for me. 



LAY FOE AN ABSENT ONE. 



■pa 



The woodland trees are dark Avith leaves 
And bright lived blossoms fall in showers 

And birds have built beneath the eaves, 
Just where they built in by -gone hours ; 



254 

But every breeze that lightly shakes 
A wealth of fragrance from the tree, 

Within my heart an echo wakes 

Of thee, sweet friend ! of thee ! of thee ! 

Adown the crimson-curtained west 

Hath rolled the day -god's golden ear, 
And on the blue sky's tranquil breast 

Shines out in peace the evening star, 
While gentle zephyrs, soft and fair, 

Blow up from southlands, fresh and free ; 
But linked with every vision rare 

Come up sweet thoughts of thee ! of thee! 

Like shadows mingling in a dream. 

The sunbeams move and light waves meet 
Upon the rippling meadow stream 

That used to lave our tiring feet. 
The gentle stream ! the meadow rill. 

The bright waves mingling joyously, 
No wonder that their rippling still 

Calls up dear thoughts, sweet friend, of thee. 

When thou and I were side by side. 

Our hearts, our hopes and wishes one, 
But now this glorious eventide, 

Thou art away and I alone ; 
Alone, alone, while gentle night 

Hath closed around me silently. 
May angels guard thy slumbers light : 

Good night, sweet friend, good night to thee. 



255 



THE SOLDIEE'S ADIEU. 

Here, dearest, 'neath the deep-blae sky; 

Here, while the stars are bright above ; 
Here, while the moon shines gloriously, 

I pledge thee my undying love. 
The fingers which so often ran 

In love-tones o'er the light guitar, 
Must grasp the sword and join the elan 

That marches to the ranks of war. 

Here, 'neath the moon so calm and cold, 

My deathless faith I pledge to thee ; 
Then, dearest, wear this ring of gold 

In memory of this night and me; 
And when it darkens in thy sight, 

And with thy soft touch snaps in two. 
Then know my heart is broken quite. 

But not untrue — no, not untrue ! 

He placed it on her finger slight. 

"What shall I give to thee?" said she. 
" I only ask one tress so bright 

Of thy brown hair to tell of thee." 
She severed one long tress. " Is such 

The boon you ask ? " she trembling said ; 
" When it is dust within your touch. 

Then, not till then, my love is dead." 



256 

He left her side. The sword and shield 

Were used in place of light guitar : 
He fought in many a battle field — 

He perished in the hosts of war. 
Close folded on his faithful breast,— 

That breast till life's last hour so true, — 
The tress of dark brown hair was pressed, 

But blood had changed its glossy hue. 
The war was o'er: she watched in vain 

For his return o'er mountain blue, — 
The ring of gold it broke in twain, 

And her fond heart was broken too ! 



AMY. 

O Amy ! — lost Amy ! 

The blue ocean's wave 
Is rolling above thee ! 
They made thee a grave, 
Down 'neath the blue waters they made thee a 
grave ; 

And fathoms and fathoms 

Above thee now roll, 
Of dark swelling waters, 
Yet I can not control 
My love for sweet Amy, the light of my soul. 

Down 'neath the blue billow. 
How sweet is thy rest ! 



257 

Thy white arms are cold now 
Upon thy still breast — 
Those arms that around me so often were pressed. 
No flowers can I garland 

Around thy low bed ; 
No tree can I plant there, 
No tear can I shed 
On the white sandy tomb where my Amy is dead. 

Oh ! gems are around thee. 

All priceless and bright ! 
Eare wreaths of pure coral, 

And shells dyed in light, 
And sea-nymphs sing dirges for thee all the night. 
O Amy ! lost Amy ! 

My angel, my guide ! 
AYhen in death's arms I slumber — 

Oh ! not by thy side 
Will my ashes repose, but long miles shall divide. 

O Amy ! lost Amy ! 

The light of my way ! 
Thou hast gone from this earth, 

^Yhile lonely I stay ; 
Ah ! why, ruthless Death, take dear Amy away ? 
But thou wert my idol, 

My ANGEL, my love ! 
' Twas wisdom, ' twas wisdom 

My heart to remove 
From its treasure below to a treasure above ! 

99 



liSS 



LET NOT THY HOPES ON EAETH BE 
STAYED. 

The flowers of earth, they are fair and gay, 

They smile in light at the dewy day; 

Their breath is sweet, and their lives are bright 

With the spangled dew of the by-gone night. 

Yet soon, too soon, they are folded up, 

The seeds of decay in each dewy cup ; 

Yet mortal, O mortal, do not sigh, 

Place thy hopes where the flowers never die. 

The skies of earth, they are often fair, 

And the sunlight streameth, Oh, brightly there ! 

As the " day god " moves in his golden car, 

Yelling the face of each trembling star. 

Yet clouds will come, and the tempest sweep, 

Like the breath of God o'er the stormy deep ; 

Yet mortal, O mortal, do not sigh, 

No clouds can pass o'er the home on high. 

The friends of earth may faw^n on thee 

In the sunlight glare of worldly glee ; 

When thy heart is glad, and thy path is peace, 

They vow their friendship shall never cease. 

But let sorrow and grief come over thy way. 

Ask for thy friends, and' where are they? 

O mortal, let thy pure heart be stayed 

Where the wreath of friendship will never ftide. 



259 

Then love will come with a syren smile, 
Winning thy heart to his fairy isle, 
Speaking of golden, sacred ties, 
That would make a desert a paradise. 
Yet a breath, a word, a look may sever 
Hearts that, in seeming, w^ere one forever. 
Seek, then, for the love of heavenly birth. 
It never will die, like the love of earth. 

O mortal ! mortal ! place thy stay 
On the land where flowers ne'er fade away; 
Where cometh no tempest, or cometh no blast, 
Where darkness the sk}^ can no more o'ercast, 
And friendship is true through eternity. 
Where love in each heart like a gem shall be, 
Where a rainbow of peace is around His throne. 
And sorrow and grief are things unknown. 
Ah, place thy treasure far, flir on high. 
Where the skies are pure, and the flow^ers ne'er 
die. 



ISABEL. 



There is a little, grassy grave 

In the churchyard corner, lone. 
And the simj)le name of Isabel 

Is graven on the stone. 
One white rose blossoms at the head 

In beauty, pure and sweet ; 
One tuft of azure violets 

Close nestles at the feet. 



260 

And fancy conjures up the face, 

As busy fancy must ; 
Each feature fair I try to trace, 

That long has changed to dust. 
Methinks I see the placid face, 

The lashes drooping low. 
The sunny curls, half parted back 

From forehead white as snow. 

The dimpled hands, in weak embrace 

Hold sweet flowers, all uncrushed ; 
I see her in her beauty, yet 

I can not see her dust. 
And then I think the mother wej^t 

Through night's long gloomy hours, 
When thinking how her darling slept. 

Beneath the summer flowers. 

Or in her dreams the tiny form 

Was sleeping on her breast ; 
Ah, sad to wake and see the snow 

Deep drifted o'er her rest. 
And then I see another sight, 

A child with tearless eyes, 
Kobed in a robe of spotless white, 

Away in Paradise. 
And then I say, " 'Tis well, 'tis well, 

Thy rest is not alone." 
How blest is little Isabel 

Beneath the mossy stone. 



261 



STANZAS. 

Spring has come, the air is ringing 

With the songs of many birds ; 
Oh, their melody is bringing 

Thoughts of long forgotten words. 
All the woods are bright before me, 

Fragrant with the breath of flowers ; 
But a sudden spell is o'er me, 

As I count the weeping hours. 

Fondly are the vine leaves twining 

Eound the distant garden wall ; 
I can see the silver shining 

O'er the flashing water-fall ; 
I can feel the south winds coming. 

Blowing folded buds apart ; 
I can hear the sweet bees humming 

In the daisy's golden heart. 

Then the scenes more faintly glimmer 

Through the mists of gathering tears. 
Then Hope's star grows dim and dimmer. 

Through the clouds of doubts and fears. 
Many thousand miles divide us, 

Perils of the land and sea. 
Many evils may betide us, 

E're our hands enclasped may be. 



262 

In mj' dreams I hear thee sighing 

For the wooing visions fled ; 
In my dreams I see thee dying, 

Only strangers by thy bed. 
Oh, the sorrow and privation, 

Oh ! the anguish all untold. 
Oh ! the strong power of temptation, 

In the mighty land of gold ! 

This it is that gilds my sorrow 

With a denser, darker ray ; 
This it is that makes to morrow 

But a shadow of to-day. 
Oh, the Spring is dark and dreary ! 

What to me the buds and flowers ? 
I am heart-sick, I am weary, 

As I count the lonesome hours. 

I can see the pearly glitter 

Of the dew upon the leaves, 
I can hear the softened twitter 

Of the 3^oung birds 'neath the eaves. 
But my soul is voiceless, tuneless, 

All is discord to mine ear ; 
Oh ! my life is starless, moonless. 

When thou art no longer near. 



263 

LOST. 

Lost ! lost ! lost ! 

The light of our household hearth ; 
A treasure most rare, a flowret most fair — 

The dearest to us upon earth. 
Lost ! lost ! lost ! 

Grief's mantle is o'er each brow ; 
Our sweet bird hath flown, our music is gone ; 

Our hearthstone is desolate now. 

Lost ! lost ! lost ! 

Can nothing our bright one restore ? — 
As ships on the sea, so storm-tossed are we ; 

Our hearts can beat gladly no more. 

" Gained ! gained ! gained !" 

There cometh a voice to our ears, 
So lovely and sweet, for an angel 'tis meet — 

It cometh to banish our tears. 
" Gained ! gained ! gained ! 

In the beautiful mansions above — 
A bird hath flown home, where storms can not 
come. 

To sing in the sunlight of love." 

Gained ! gained ! gained ! 

From the stormy and cold earth below, 
To bloom in our bower, a fair, fragile flower, 

All free from each blast that shall blow. 



'2U 

Gained ! gained ! gained ! 

Oh ! shall we the lost one restore ? 
Shall we clothe her again, Avith earth's mantle of 
pain, 

On the cold earth to suffer once more ? 

'No I no ! no ! 

Though joy hath gone out from each breast, 
We ask not that she, once among us should be, 

With a mortal's heart throbbing unrest. 
Ko ! no ! no ! 

Keep her from sorrow and pain ; 
We have lost our bright dove, you have gained her 
above ; 

Our loss, oh, we know 'tis her gain. 



BIED OF THE WILD WOOD.' 

Bird of the wild-wood, 

Bird of the trees, 
Oh ! for thy light wing. 

Light as the breeze. 

Bird of the forest, 

Happy and gay, 
Sweet is thy music. 

Sweet is thy lay. 



2G5 

Up in the morning, 
To the sky's breast; 

Home in the evening, 
Home to thy nest. 

Bird of the wild-wood, 

Happy thou art ; 
Oh ! for thy light wing, 

Oh ! for thy heart. 

Come thou blithe wanderer, 

Joyous and free 
Fold thy light wing awhile, 

Linger with me. 

Tell of thy rambles 

All the day long, 
Tell of thy happiness, 

Tell it in song. 

Tipping thy soft wing 
Down in the stream, 

Making the wavelets 
Glitter and gleam. 

O'er hill, vale, and mountain, 

Forest and dell, 
These are th}' rambles. 

Away, then, farewell I 
23 



266 



TO 



Like the blue tranquil azure of summer's fair 

skies, 
Is the calm, holy light of thy beautiful eyes — 
They haunt me, they haunt me, those beautiful 

eyes. 

In anger, how flashing they burn on my soul. 
Till my heart must obey, while the glance can 

control 
My words and my actions — one glance can control. 

But when with affection they look into mine, 
My heart is allured by those glances of thine — 
Enchanted, allured by those glances of thine. 

Oh ! e'er may those glances shine out on my way, 
Like stars at the holy and soft hush of day — 
On heaven's blue bosom, as the soft hush of day. 

Eemove not, remove not these glances of love, 
L et them shine on my spirit like stars from above — 
Let them light my heart's cell, like the pure stars 
above. 

Oh ! let their affection beam sweetly in mine ; 
While my soul feels thy truth by those glancings 

of thine — 
In the calm, holy light of those blue eyes of thine. 



267 



THE BIED'S NEST EMPTY. 

'•There are no birds in last year's nest." 

' TwAS fashioned in the spring-time hours, 

What time May roses were in bloom ; 
How often, with the breath of flowers 

Came sweet song-snatches to my room. 
The birds are gone — the empty nest 

Is wet with cold autumnal rain ; 
No more each fluttering little breast 

Shall nestle in its moss again. 

My heart is like that nest, to-night, 

So cold, and empty, and bereft; 
My bird of love hath taken flight — 

I've nothing now but memory left. 
Oh, empty heart! forsaken nest! 

Cold tears fall like the Autumn rain ; 
Within you never more shall rest 

Your sweet flown birds of song again. 



WATCHING BY THE LATTICE. 

Watching by the lattice, 

Purely, clearly bright 
Is the young moon, smiling 

On the brow of night ; 
Dimmer, softer, fainter, 

Falls the vesper light. 



268 

Watching by the lattice 

Sat a maiden fair, 
Smiles were on her cherry lips, 

Eoses in her hair, 
And her heart kept vigil, 

Full of sunshine there. 

Watching by the lattice: 

Now her azure eye 
Looketh toward the wicket gate, 

Where the shadows lie, 
And she whispers softly, 

" He'll come by-and-by." 

Watching by the lattice : 
Night hath lost her crown, 

For behind the smoky hills 
Has the moon gone down, 

And the silvery shadows 
Fade to somber brown. 

Watching by the lattice : 

Ah, 'tis all in vain ! 
Smiles have faded from her cheek, 

Hope has changed to pain ; 
Through the little wicket gate 

He ne'er came again. 



269 



AMELIA. 



It seems not half so bard to die, 

To cross death's darkly foaming river, 

To leave, without a tear or sigh, 

This world, and all its scenes, forever, — 
Since thou art dead. 

So near seems heaven's own radiant shore. 
So dark earth's lonely way of sorrow, 

My heart keeps longing, more and more, 
For the eternal, glorious morrow, — 
Since thou art dead. 

Our love, it was no idle thing. 

By death its links can not be riven : 

Thou'lt meet me on thy snowy wing, 
Thou'lt love me in that bapj^y heaven, — 
Where none are dead. 

Blest hope ! like some clear shining star. 
It gilds the clouds from which it started j 

The way will not be dark or far. 

And then no more shall we be parted, — 
jS"o more be dead. 



270 



THE SNOW. 

How lightly it creeps 

Over valley and hill, 
From the rocks' wildest steeps 

To the bright sparkling rill! 
It covers each place 

With a mantle of white ; 
Yet no sound can we trace 

Of a footstep so light. 

Field, desert, and wood, 

Doth it cover them all ; 
On the evil and good 

Doth its soft vesture fall. 
It kisses the stream. 

Which in summer so gay 
Onward smoothly did gleam 

To its home far away. 

Oh ! softly it lies 

On the willow bough spread - 
Where the wind sadly sighs 

O'er the tomb of the dead. 
How fair is thy form ! 

Yet how brief is thy stay ! 
Thou did'st come in the storm. 

And will soon pass away. 



271 



THE TWO POEMS. 

"I WILL sing," thus said a poet; 

"I will weave a lay for fame ; " 
And his dark eye flashed and sparkled, 
, And his pale cheek flushed with flame ; 
While with quick, impatient fingers, 

And with pale lips half apart, 
Did he wake the lyre to wailings, 

Groanings from a tortured heart. 

Then he sang a gorgeous poem, 

Like a kingly diadem ; 
Every line was like a jewel. 

Every word was like a gem ; 
And he cast it, smiling proudly, 

On the world's deceitful sea, 
Saying, as it floated onward, 

" Fame, Oh! bring fame back to me." 

On it went, that gorgeous poem, 

As the blue waves swept apart. 
Captivating but the fancy — 

l!^cver speaking to the heart ; 
For to those who paused to listen, 

The low dirge within its breast 
Gave it nothing but wild yearnings, 

Sadness, bitterness, unrest. 



272 

But it twined the poet's forehead 
With a laurel wreath of flame ; 

He did reap what he had planted, 
A rich harvesting of fame. 

" I will sing," thus said a poet ; 

•' I will sing a lay for Love." 
Meekly were her dark eyes lifted 

To the quiet stars above ; 
Then there came a dear good angel, 

And her white wings o'er her pressed, 
Tuning to a low, sweet music 

Every pulse within her breast. 

TJien with dreamy eyes, and misty, 

And with red lips half apart. 
Wove she into words and stanzas 

The emotions of her heart. 
" Go," she said, "thou little poem, 

Gro abroad like Noah's dove — 
Breathe to every heart a blessing. 

Bring me love ! oh, bring me love ! " 

Lightly went the little poem. 

Gladly on its mission sweet, 
Like a wave of wond'rous beauty, 

Singing at the sailor's feet. 
Like a green tree in the desert, 

Like a cooling water -brook, 
Like a lily by a river. 

Like a violet in a nook. 



273 

Oh ! like all things bright and joyous, 

Was that simple, earnest lay, 
And of love a plenteous harvest 

Shed about the poet's way. 
Knelt she in the golden twilight, 

With the dews upon her hair, 
And with tearful eyes to heaven, 

Breathed her thankfulness in prayer. 

If a pilgrim hath been shadowed 

By a tree that I have nursed ; 
If a cup of clear cold water 

I have raised to lips athirst ; 
If I've planted one sweet flower 

By an else too barren way ; 
If I've whispered in the midnight 

One sweet word to tell of day; 

If in one poor bleeding bosom 

I a woe-swept chord have stilled ■ 
If a dark and restless spirit 

I with hope of heaven have filled ; 
If I've made for life's hard battle 

One faint heart grow brave and strong ;- 
Then, my God, I thank thee, bless thee. 

For the precious gift of song. 



274 



LEOLINE. 

I've rambled where the lilies blow, 
In summer-time, their bells of snow, 
And dreamed a dream of long ago. 

I sat beside a little mound, 

The crimson leaves were drifting round 

Upon the sere and frosty ground. 

The 2:>ale moon to her azure tent, 
Like a young nun in silence went, 
With fjrm by woe, not winters, bent. 

That little mound — within its breast, 
Was laid in sweet and peaceful rest, 
The form of her I loved the best. 

Dimly, beneath their waxen fold, - 
The pale blue, misty eyes are rolled, 
And cheeks are white and lips are cold. 

Soft o'er the blue-veined brow, as fair 
As scarcely opened lilies are. 
Sweeps back a cloud of golden hair. 

Thus Fancy hath her form arrayed. 
Painting in light instead of shade — 
Long years ago that grave was made. 



275 

And Fancy knew not what she did ; 
For should I raise that coffin lid, 
Where years ago that form was hid, 

No single feature I could trace 
Of that beloved, meek young face, 
That once was in the grave's embrace ; 

But just before my tearful eyes 
A cloud of golden dust would rise, 
And drift us slowly to the skies, 

As sometimes from a flowret's urn, 
When daylight's amber torches burn, 
And queen Aurora doth return, 

A fairy starts up from her sleep. 
Confused with murmurs, soft and deep, 
Of winds that all about her creep. 

And dons a dew-robe, clear and bright. 
And rises slowly from the sight 

To QUIET TENTS COMPOSED OF LIGHT. 

Oh ! thanks that from the cheerless tomb. 
Where all is silence, darkness, gloom. 
The bud breaks forth in lovely bloom. 

And in another, fairer sphere. 
More beautiful than ever here, 
I shall see Leoline my dear. 



276 



ZULINE TO RODOLPH. 

<'I DEFY THEE TO FORGET ME. 

Go, go, thy power is over, 

Unclasp affection's chain, 
The glad world is before thee, 

Go to that world again. 
I scorn thee for thy falsehood, 

I scorn thee for thy pride ; 
I scorn thee from my inmost heart — 

Here let our paths divide. 
But ere we now are parted. 

One thought I'll breathe to thee: 
I defy thee to forget me, 

^Yherever thou niay'st be. 

Go thou and burn my letters, 

They're graven on thy heart — 
Cast to the waves the locket, 

My face will not depart ; 
Burn on the ruddy embers, 

The tress of sunny hair ; 
Take my ring from ofP thy finger, 

Its ghost will yet be there : 
A tie there is that binds us, 

A tie that none may free— 
I defy thee to forget me, 

Wherever thou may'st be. 



277 



Stop not, in mercy stop not, 

A single word to speak ; 
Stop not to note the ashes, 

Dead hope upon my cheek ; 
Stop not with dark eyes flashing, 

And red lips curled with scorn ; 
From no delusive fancy 

The prophecy is born — 
It will come to thee in mockery, 

When most thou secmest free — 
I defy thee to forget me, 

Wherever thou may'st be. 

Thou wilt go and whisper softly 

To many a blushing cheek — 
The very vows you utter, 

To me you used to speak ; 
Thou wilt kneel in the white moonlight, 

With those sweet tones of thine 
And give unto another 

The faith that once was mine : 
But conscience will reprove thee. 

And thought will cling to thee— 
I defy thee to forget me, 

Wherever thou may'st be. 

Thou wilt sit beneath the willows, 

Beside the singing stream, 
Where the golden-hearted lilies 

Droop softly in a dream ; 
Thou wilt start at every rustle, 



278 

With thrill, half hope, half fear, 
As if above the ripples 

My coming step to hear ; 
Thou wilt strive to think of others, 

And only think of me — 
Thou can'st not e'er forget me, 

Wherever thou may'st be. 

Go, go, I could not love thee, 

I could not trust thee now ; 
At the dark shrine of falsehood 

Once is enough to bow. 
I scorn thee as I see thee, 

And know thy base untruth ; 
My lip hath lost its gladness. 

My very heart its youth ; 
And thou, oh thou, dost tremble 

At the sorrow thou hast made ; 
Thouwouldst forget that wild, deep love 

Thy falsehood hath betrayed. 

I will hide the poisoned arrow, 

Within my heart away ; 
None but thou shalt know its bleeding, 

Its wasting, day by day — 
And none may know my tortures, 

And none may know my pride ; 
And none the bitter moment, 

When Love in anguish died. 
And none the ghost that keepeth 



270 



^t 



A silent pace with thee, 
And whispers of thy falsehood, 
Wherever thou may'st be. 



BESSIE LEE. 

The foot-path to the cottage 

Is covered o'er with snow, 
The vines about the window 

Are blowing to and fro, 
And my heart is going sadly. 

Back to the " long ago." 

In the Spring-time, round the cottage, 
Sang the wild birds on the tree. 

And in many a fragrant flower-heart 
L ay sweet treasures for the bee — 

There I met the fairy maiden, 
With the name of Bessie Lee. 

Like the gentle harp Eolian 

Was the gentle cadence of her tone — ■ 
And her heart in every beating, 

Won an answer from my own — 
Down the jDath of life I wandered, 

N^ow no more in soul alone. 

The flowers about the cottage 
Were gemmed with dews of June, 



280 

And the streamlet, by the hill-side 
Hummed a sort of drowsy tune, 

Bessie Lee and I were walking 
'Neath the tissue of the moon. 

The variegated leaflets 

Proclaimed the xVutumn nigh, 

And sadly through the forests 
The chilling winds swept by — 

No more beneath the moonlight 
Walked Bessie Lee and I. 

The foot-path to the cottage 

With snow is covered o'er. 
And the vines are drooping lowly 

O'er the window^ and the door — 
For the hand that used to twine them 

Can twine them never more. 
The white snow lies all softly 

Upon the willow tree, 
And the world which was so lovely 

Is very dark to me — 
Yonder gleams the marble head-stone 

With the name carved — Bessie Lee. 



281 

THE TWO YOICES. 

" The heart hath two voices, of hope and doubt." 

"The way is rough, the rocks are bare, 
How can my bleeding footsteps cross?" — 

" Courage ! faint heart, do not despair, 
The rocks are dotted o'er with moss." 

"The way is dark, and lone and far, 
The mists of gloom around me rise." — 

"Look through thy tears, behold a star 
Soft shining on the tranquil skies." 

" The way is desolate, I know 

Not where to turn — afraid, alone." — 

" Have faith, a hand as pure as snow, 
Is waiting to receive thine own." 

" The way is sad, the tones that thrilled 
My heart, come to my ears no more." — 

" Go on in hope ; they are but stilled. 

That thou may'st seek them gone before." 

" The way is cheerlciis : ah, my jDath 

Bears more of woe than others feel." — 
24 



•26-2 

"Not so, the smiles another hath, 
A secret canker oft conceal." 

"The way is fearful ! ah, the stream 
Is dark, by fears my heart is riven." — 

" Courage one moment, yonder gleam 
The jasper gates of rest and heaven." 



TO X. X. X. 



Ah, friend, whose heart was once mine own, 

My soul is full of thee to-night, 
While sitting wrapped in thought, alone. 

Beneath Orion's silvery light. 

It hath been long since look or word 

Of thine hath made my heart-strings thrill, 

But oh, this hour the waves are stirred 
I thought forever still. 

I've gone to one sweet Summer day, 
Far backward in the arms of years. 

When thou and I were far away 
From sorrow's blight and tears. 

Thy golden locks were on my breast, 
I heard the throbbings of thy heart. 

And, as my lips thy forehead pressed, 
I thought we could not part. 



283 

Our souls had glided o'er a sea 

Bright as Utopia's isle of yore ; 
The present was our Eden, we 

Dreamed never of the shore. 

We knew in calmer, soberer hours, 
Our lives could never mingle here ; 

But love wove fragrant wreaths of flowers, 
Alas, to deck his bier. 

Oh, had our bark but then gone down — 
Then when the skies w^ere bright above, 

We each had worn a gem-like crown. 
Illuminate with love. 

But time's rough waves wore high and higher, 
The faint breeze bore us to the shore. 

The sunset was our funeral pyre ; 
We met, alas, no more. 



THE DYING BETEOTHED. 

Sweet sister come closer, I scarcely can speak, 
Let me feel your Avarm kisses fall soft on my cheek. 
The angels are calling me, kindly away; 
But, ere my departure, I've something to say. 

Tell him, very softly, my sweet sister, tell 

That my last dying wish was to bid him farew^ell ; 



284 

But that hope was imparted, amid all the pain, 
That I left him but only to meet him again. 

Oh, let him not come with a sob to my tomb — 
The damp mold, the coffin, will fill him with 

gloom ; 
Not think of the \\]) where his love-kisses lay. 
As moldered to dust and corruj^tion away. 

But tell him to let my affection be laid. 
Like a rose, in his heart, not to wither and fade; 
To think of me when aught, that's lovely or fair, 
Eocks his pulses to music, thanksgiving, and 
prayer. 

Oh, I shall be with him, I fondly believe. 
In the golden-eyed morn and the shadowy eve, 
Unseen, like the dew-droj) that sunbeams exhale, 
Unheard, like the snow-fluke that falls in the vale. 

It will be a sw^eet thought, when he pensively 

strays. 
In the fair afternoon of the Summer-time days — 
When he lifts up his eye to the deep, dreamy air. 
To think T am with him, tho' silently, there. 

Fold softly about me m}- w^edding-robe light; 
My cheek will be like it, so perfectly w^hite ; 
Alas, when I made it how little I thought 
'Twas my own chilling shroud I so hoi^efuU}'' 
wrought. 



285 

My veil, dearest sister, forget not to place, 
Encircled with rose-buds, about my cold face. 
Let me kiss you — my eyes are so darkened and 

dim, — 
Another kiss, sister — this last one for 1dm. 



WHEX? 



When breaks the morning? long have watchful 
eyes, 

Dimmed by the dusky shadows of the night, 
Lifted their lids in vain to mark the skies. 

If yet the " golden promise " burst in light ; 
Sages have died and bounding hearts grown old, 

And mute as dust the pulsing lips of seers, 
As one by one to yesterdays have rolled 

The close-linked days that wove the woof of 
years. 

When breaks the morning, prophesied so long? 

As Faith looked upward, patiefit waiting still ; 
As Poesy, entranced, wove into song 

Great words of promise, making sad hearts thrill ; 
As Eorealis in the northland night 

Flashes and burns like day along the sky, — 
Have soft lines o'er Time's orient, clear and bright, 

Mocked us with morning promise and passed by. 



286 

When breaks the morning? Ah ! too long, too long- 
Might's hungry lion hath on blood been fed, 

And the great giant, surly, heartless Wrong, 
Traraj^led the helpless 'neath his careless tread. 

Fetters have galled and left their crimson scar 
Upon fair limbs, like gashes ; in the gloom 

Man learned to hate liis brother as the war 
Filled up the earth with darkness as a tomb. 

When breaks the morning? Ah ! this age of gold, 

When hands grasp wealth like fetters, hearts 
are stone, 
Ears deaf to anguish, sad-eyed Pity cold 

In her wan shroud, and Love weeps on alone ; 
When Self is God, and haughty Pride holds sway, 

And Sin mocks Retribution, blear-eyed Vice 
Taunts his pursuers and torments his prey, 

Till Mercy's blood is frozen into ice. 

When breaks the morning? when shall that sweet 
tie, 

Binding the human brotherhood in peace. 
Draw close and closer, till the last sad cry 

Of smothered anguish shall for ever cease ? 
When shall the strong protect the trembling weak? 

When shall the tempter spread no more his net ? 
Oh ! when shall Plenty kiss the lip and cheek 

Of wan Starvation, now with tear-drops wet ? 

When breaks the morning? Prophet, poet, seer, 
Is the sky brightening? Oh ye true and good, 



287 

Toil on ftnd pray, and hope, and watch — the year 
Will some time dawn — the human brotherhood 

Grow love-like, and thus godlike — stinging Sin 
Fly from its own dark shadow — Wrong's red 
throne 

Totter and. fall — remorseless Pride shall win 
]Sro refuge spot, and Hate in death shall groan ! 

When breaks the morning? Ope, ye radiant hours, 

Golden with beauty — ope, ye weary eyes ! 
'i^eath Love's warm kisses, move, soft feet, o'er 
flowers ! 

Feast, smiling lips, on peace-bread! weary, rise! 
Fill all the world, sweet Melody, with song; 

For Love is king — Love watches over men ! 
WKen shall that morning dawn, foretold so long? 

Angels shall joy in that delightful " when !" 



ON THE DEATH OF M. LOUISA CHITWOOD. 

BY COATES KINNEY. • 

What ! dead ? 
The heart of love 

And the lips of song 
To the burial bed 

And the grave belong? 



288 

Not dead? 
Oh ! can it be 

That the locks so fair 
Which goldened her head, 

Lie lusterless there? 

Ay, dead ! 
Oh, fond friend's tear ! 

Oh, mother's moan ! 
What stands in her stead 

But the burial stone? 

Why dead? 
Truth never dies, 

And love lives long ; 
And the two were wed 

In her life of song. 

What, dead! 
While living souls 

Eternally stir 
With the influence shed 

By the soul of her? 

Not dead ! 
So pure her life 

That its raptest mood 
Has only up-led 

To the angelhood. 




HIO 89 



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DEC 88 








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N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 







